




WOOD & WATER 
FRIENDS 



* CLARENCE HAWKES 







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Book , : 



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COEXRIGIIT DEPOSm 





THE POUNDING CAME FROM AN OLD APPLE-TREE. 



.H.42 



Copyright, 1903, 1904, 1907, 
By Thomas Y. Crowell & Company 

Published 191J 



TRANSFERRED FROM 
COPYRIGHT OFFICE 

!ftH » WW 



JAN 14 i'iil 1* 



The Woods and the Waters 

There are two phases of Nature that are always 
calling to the heart of youth. This is especially true 
of the strong, courageous heart of a boy. These 
two aspects of Mother Nature which have laid such 
a magic spell upon the human heart are the woods 
and the waters. 

It matters not what the season, their charm is 
always the same, a spell that calls us from books 
and study, from play or work, but in turn teaches us 
greater wisdom than was ever propounded by sages, 
unless they were woods and water wise. 

It may be that the call comes in the springtime 
when the new life is springing in the aisles of the 
ancient forest, for it is then that the voice is the 
loudest. 

Along the brookside the cowslips hold up their yel- 
low chalices to catch the first warm sunbeams, and by 
the lakeside the reeds and water grasses have put on 
their pale, ethereal green. In either place the voice 
of birds and batrachia will be calling. 

But even though it is in somber winter and the 
ancient forest is nude and leafless ; even though the 
brook is icebound and the lake is sleeping neath its 
palace of ice, yet the voices are still calling faintly to 



viii THE WOODS AND THE WATERS 

the heart of youth ; saying to the stout-hearted, 
" Put on snowshoes and skis and come out of your 
overheated houses. Put on skates and sweaters 
and come forth to Mother Nature and she will still 
tell you of the woods and the waters, of these two 
living haunts of nature that never sleep, but are al- 
ways wide-awake, breathing and throbbing with life." 

It is to the stout-hearted that Nature reveals her- 
self. Seek and ye shall find. Knock and it will be 
opened unto you. 

I hold it the greatest privilege of my life that I 
was born in the country, amid the green growing 
things ; with the birds, the squirrels and the rabbits 
for playfellows, and the fields and the forests for my 
playground. 

Each spring I watched, with never-tiring zest, for 
the coming of the birds. That day when the first 
bluebird perched upon treetop or bar-post and 
greeted me with his sweet little " Cheerily, Cheer- 
ily," was a red letter day and carried sunshine 
through the many bleak, stormy days that often fol- 
lowed it. I called the bluebird my hope bird. I 
afterwards learned that the bluebird and the blue 
flower are symbols of Hope in mythology. But the 
bluebird was not alone for long, for the grackles fol- 
lowed fast while the robin, the song sparrow and the 
meadow lark soon made the spring vocal and glad- 
ness again filled the land. 

Their nest building, and the joys and sorrows of 



THE WOODS AND THE WATERS ix 

the household were to me very personal affairs. I 
guarded them from harm as I would my best 
friends. For the birds are our friends and they 
mean much to us, both for their song and beauty 
and for their great aid in keeping down the insects 
that destroy crops. 

We always went up to the maple grove in the 
pasture on Sunday afternoon in the summer time to 
read or lie idly upon the green moss listening to the 
woods sounds, or watching the wild, shy life. 

In the autumn time we came to the friendly forest 
again for nuts, and many a pleasant October after- 
noon we spent gathering the spoils of chestnut, 
walnut, or beechnut. 

Nor was the ancient woods without interest in the 
winter, for it was then that I went with the logging 
teams to the deep woods to watch the hauling and 
the piling of the great logs and finally I rode out on 
the top of a high load on its way to the sawmill. 
In this way I learned to read the book of Nature in 
the winter time and devoured its pages with all the 
excitement of a thrilling romance. 

The birds, the squirrels, the rabbits and the foxes 
could not write, but they could all make their mark. 
These marks they made in the new snow, whenever 
and wherever they went and these signs told me the 
incidents of their lives from the beginning to its ex- 
citing and often tragic end. 

The waters were not less fascinating than the 



x THE WOODS AND THE WATERS 

woods and each season had its particular charm. 
The first day of the open season for trout was as 
important a day in the annals of the waters as was 
the coming of the bluebird in the chronicle of the 
birds. Then it was that I got out an ironwood fish- 
pole, for I did not own a bamboo rod and with 
plenty of worms dug in the garden and with a gen- 
erous lunch started for the rarest day's sport that life 
has ever afforded me. 

The half nude forest just touched with green, the 
first arbutus, the white shadbush, the first springing 
cowslips and the noisy kingfisher, I can recall them 
all just as though it were but yesterday. 

How hungry I was when the lunch hour came and 
with what pride I brought home the catch at night 
and laid them all out on the doorstep and gloated 
over the specks of gold upon their beautifully mot- 
tled backs and sides. No miser ever gloated over 
gold with more satisfaction. 

In the summer time we boys often went to the old 
mill-pond for a day's pickerel fishing. Our boat 
was a water-soaked old tub, which leaked like a 
sieve, but we thought her the finest boat ever 
manned, and the day upon the pond was a cup 
brimming over with boyish pleasure. 

In the late autumn we came to the same fasci- 
nating mill-pond for skating, and in the winter to 
fish through the ice for the pickerel that had eluded 
us in the summer time. 



THE WOODS AND THE WATERS xi 

So the streams and the lakes too had their charms 
and each season brought new joys that were eagerly- 
waited for and pounced upon with boyish shouts of 
delight. 

It is a wonderful thing for the boys and girls of 
to-day that so many beautiful animal stories and 
other Nature books have been written. It is also 
fortunate that teachers and librarians use them so 
freely in their class rooms and in the children's rooms 
of the great city libraries. 

The average wide-awake child of to-day knows 
more of the birds and wild-flowers than their parents 
do, because they have had advantages along these 
lines which their fathers and mothers did not. 

The bird calendar and the herbarium in the public 
schools have taught them these priceless things and 
no sordid circumstances of after life can wholly ob- 
literate these beautiful uplifting pictures of field and 
forest and of the little furred and feathered friends 
who make these haunts beautiful and wonderful. 

So, young people, go often to the woods and the 
waters and learn from Nature's great book. Learn 
by heart the four-part story of spring, summer, 
autumn and winter. Then when you are older, if 
the circumstances of your life take you away into 
the city you will have something infinitely precious 
to feed your heart and brain upon when the din and 
the grind of the city are heavy upon you. 

Out of the woods and the waters cometh perfect 



xii THE WOODS AND THE WATERS 

peace ; peace and understanding which will make 
you strong when you need strength and wise when 
you need wisdom. 

This is God's world that we live in. With His 
hands He fashioned it ; the woods and the waters. 
He made it for an inspiration and delight. So let 
us be mindful of its beauty and its wonder and hold 
them in our hearts as a sacred precious thing that 
shall make us rich as Kings and fill our souls with 
peace and understanding. 

Clarence Hawkes. 

Hadley, Mass., 

July 24.th> ip i j. 



Contents 








Grandma's Winter Visitors .... i 


The Trysting Tree .... 






7 


A Life of Fear 






14 


The Galloping Hessian 






18 


Chucky's Last Breakfast . 






24 


How Cock-Robin Saved His Family 






29 


Frisk and Frolic 






38 


Billy Wilson's Box Trap 






42 


The End of Black Lightning 






57 


A Terrible Ride 






72 


The Good Green Wood 






7 6 


A Night With Ruff Grouse 






81 


Bob's Revenge .... 






9i 


The Last Meeting 






103 


A Teacher of Woodcraft . 






no 


Old Ringtail's Waterloo . 






125 


Books in Running Brooks . 






141 


The Mischief-Maker . 






■ 153 


A Tender Mother 






. 160 


An Autumn Ramble , 






. 172 


The Plovers' Field-Day 






. 179 


The Great Circus Cat 






. 184 



Xlll 



XIV 



CONTENTS 



Signs in the Snow 

Signs of the Seasons . 

A Twenty-Dollar Coat 

The People of Frog-Hollow 

Blueback, the Frog-Catcher 

Little Musky' s Story 

The Revenge of the Blue Horde 

The Little Fisherman 

The Water Weasel 

The Boy With the Dinner-Pail 

The Tale of a Turtle 



195 
204 
209 
223 
240 
254 
262 
270 
282 
287 
300 



Illustrations 

(Drawings by Charles Cope land") 

The Pounding Came from an Old Apple-Tree 

An Old Cock Partridge with Big Black Ruffs and 
Pompous Manners ..... 

Chucky Reared Cautiously Upon His Hind Legs . 

What a Cute Little House It Was . 

The Partridge Broke Away and Whirred Over the 
Tops . . . . 



He Clutched the Bars Fiercely with His Claws 
I Saw the Black-Ringed Brush of a Coon . 
She Gave Them the Frog to Play With . 
Getting an Early Supper in the Top of a Maple 
The Panther Bent Lower on the Limb 
" Honk, Honk, Honk ! " . 



PAGE 

Frontispiece 
Very 



Tree- 



Here They Sat Nodding and Blinking 
I Dropped My Pole and Sprang for Him 



4 
28 

86- 



106 
136 
162 

'74 

192 

206 



^ 



He Would Pick Up a Sucker as Easily as He Would a Stick 216 

He Was a Dignified Proud Old Fellow . . . .226 

Ned Had Just Presence of Mind Enough Left to Turn His 

Face to the Tree-Trunk . . . . . .250 






278 ' 
306 - 



XV 



Wood and Water Friends 



Grandma's Winter Visitors 

NOT all children are as fortunate in living near to 
their grandparents as we were, for it is not often 
that one can go to his grandmother's at any time of 
day in ten or fifteen minutes, but this was the fact 
in our case and we thought ourselves very lucky 
indeed. 

When we were tired of playing at home and 
longed for something different, we would go in and 
say, "Mother, may we go up to grandma's?" To 
which mother would usually reply, " Yes, dears, if 
you will be good and do just as grandmother tells 
you, and will start for home before dark." Then 
there was a shout of joy and a clatter of small feet 
down the garden path and we were gone. 

The walk over to grandmother's was a never- 
ending source of delight. First, it led out through 
our own garden and into the orchard. What child 
who is country born does not recall the old orchard 
with delight ? There are its straight rows of quaint 
trees, each different from the other and each having 



2 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

some peculiar limb, or hiding place under the roots 
that the other does not possess. If it is autumn 
there is the fruit, bright red and yellow, loading the 
limbs down even to breaking. If it is springtime, 
how sweet the air is with the scent of apple-blossoms, 
and how pleasant is the drowsy droning of the bees 
as they gather honey ! Down through the old 
orchard winds the path to grandmother's, until it is 
lost to sight in the beech woods. 

Here in the springtime are green, mossy knolls, 
where hepatica and partridge-berry love to hide, and 
tender young ferns and blood-root. Further on, 
beyond the woods, is a meadow where a little brook 
sings joyously all day long. What a temptation to 
sit long upon the plank bridge, dangling one's feet 
over the cool water, watching the minnows play 
hide-and-seek in its eddies or the gleam of sunlight 
upon the ever-changing ripples. But we must not 
loiter too long, for up through another orchard, as 
delightful even as our own, we can see the pleasant 
old farmhouse under the big elms. Although we 
cannot see her yet, we know that grandmother is 
standing there on the porch waiting to welcome us 
with a smile on her face and a cheery word. Then 
we know there will be an invitation to come in and 
see what grandmother has been baking. It may be 
gingerbread or it may be cakes, but it is sure to be 
something good. 

When I go way back into the dim corners of my 



GRANDMA'S WINTER VISITORS 3 

memory to those things that are almost forgotten, I 
am sure to see a kindly old woman with a cap and 
spectacles, and the sweetest kind of a smile. That 
is my grandmother, and a dearer old lady never 
lived, for although her years were many, yet her 
heart was always young and full of sweet sympathy 
for children. 

It was from her that we learned that most im- 
portant lesson of being kind to animals, and par- 
ticularly to birds and squirrels, of which she was 
very fond. In the winter time, when the storms 
came and the winds blew, and these little creatures 
were cold and hungry, it was her special delight to 
befriend them. " In the summer," she would say, 
" they can take care of themselves, but in the winter, 
when we are comfortably housed, we should think of 
them out in the cold." 

With these kind thoughts in her mind, grand- 
mother would scatter grains of buckwheat and bread 
crumbs for the sparrows and the chickadees, and I 
would watch through the window while they hopped 
about on the snow picking up their breakfast. Then 
there was always a piece of meat nailed to a con- 
venient post that the birds knew well. Many of 
them made their breakfast upon this half-frozen 
meat. There were chickadees and sparrows, wood- 
peckers and grosbeaks, snowbirds, and even an old 
crow came when very hungry, but he did not often 
venture so near the house. One night, just at dusk, 



4 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

I saw a curious looking white owl standing upon the 
post, making a late supper. 

But the strangest of all grandmother's feathered 
visitors, and one who is usually very wary, was an 
old cock partridge with big black ruffs and very 
pompous manners. This fine fellow would strut 
around with all the dignity of a turkey-cock, but he 
would fly away with a great noise at the slightest 
sound. Grandma said it was unusual for a par- 
tridge to venture so near the house and that there 
was a good reason for his coming. Several years 
before she had found him, one day, by the roadside, 
stunned and nearly dead. She had carried him 
home in her hands and had cared for him, keeping 
him in a hencoop until he was well, when she had let 
him go. He had always remembered this kindness 
and was occasionally seen near the house. Grandma 
said she knew him by the way he flew, one of his 
wings having been injured when she found him. 

But the cutest of all her winter pets was a pair of 
gray squirrels that I named Frisk and Frolic, from 
the manner in which they frisked and frolicked about, 
chasing each other up and down trees and along the 
top of the wall. Sometimes they would go scurry- 
ing up the big maple in front of the house until it 
made me dizzy to look at them, and then I would ask 
grandma if they would not fall, but they never did. 

The squirrels did not like the same things to eat 
that the birds did Grandma always placed their 




AN OLD COCK PARTRIDGE WITH BIG BLACK RUFFS AND VERY 
POMFOUS MANNERS. 



GRANDMA'S WINTER VISITORS 5 

breakfast upon the back porch so that I could watch 
them eat. It was great fun to see them stand upon 
their hind legs and turn a nut about in their forepaws 
and all the time keep their sharp teeth biting away 
at the shuck until the sweet meat was in sight, when 
they would eat it with great zest. Corn they were 
also fond of, and Frisk, the larger of the two squirrels, 
could carry off a whole ear at a time. This he always 
did when they started for the woods. Grandma said 
that he was taking it home for dinner, and of course 
grandma knew. 

One evening late in the autumn, our parents being 
away on a visit, we children were sitting about a fire in 
the open grate while grandmother told us stories. It 
was quite cold for the time of year, and a hard hail- 
storm had come up. It was so cosey, though, in the 
warm room, and so pleasant to sit inside and hear 
the storm beating against the window-panes, that we 
were quite content with our lot. The stories had 
been discontinued for a few moments that we might 
better enjoy the warmth and firelight, when in a lull 
of the storm we heard a sharp blow against the 
window glass. " What is that ? " we children asked 
in astonishment, for it was strange enough that any- 
thing should be moving in such a storm. " I think 
it was a bird," replied grandmother ; " the poor thing 
has probably become bewildered by the storm, and, 
attracted by the light, sought shelter in the warm 



6 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

It seemed so out of place that anything should be 
out in the storm, and we asked so many questions 
about the birds : what they did during storms, what 
kind of a bird this one was, and was he hurt ? that 
finally, to satisfy our anxious questions, grandma 
lighted the lantern and went out-of-doors to see what 
she could find. Presently she returned bringing a 
small, feathered object in her hand. 

It was a poor little sparrow who had not known 
the danger in the window glass and had dashed his 
head against the hard surface. Thus what had 
seemed to be an escape from the storm and a refuge 
had brought him low. He lay feebly fluttering in 
grandmother's hand, and we children all gathered 
around and lavished childish pity upon the poor little 
bird. 

When, a few moments after coming inside, with a 
feeble gasp and flutter the sparrow died, my little 
sister cried as though her heart would break, and 
my own sympathies were moved more than I cared 
to show, being a boy. I went to the kitchen for a 
drink of water that I might cover up my feelings. It 
was well enough for a girl to cry, but it would never 
do for a boy. 

Grandmother wrapped the dead sparrow in a 
newspaper and put him upon the mantelpiece for 
the night, and the next day I dug his grave in the 
garden, and we buried him with all solemnity. 

It was a small affair, this death of a sparrow, and 



THE TRYSTING TREE 7 

something that happens in every storm, but it has 
lingered in my mind ever since, and somehow, even 
to this very day, I cannot shake off the pathos of 
this little tragedy. First will come the picture of 
the storm beating outside and the small bird fleeing 
before the sharp blows. Then, on the other hand, is 
the picture of the warm room, cosey in the glow of 
firelight. The storm-tossed bird sees the warmth 
and light and flies toward it, only to dash out his 
life against the window glass. 

It is well that every child should learn early in life 
this lesson of the dead sparrow — then will he pity 
and protect the dumb creatures. Then will he see 
how man was set above the creatures of the fields 
and woods, not to destroy them, but to protect and 
encourage them, and be mindful of their coming and 
going. And why should he not, since we are told 
that not a sparrow falleth to the ground unnoticed 
by our heavenly Father ? 



The Trysting Tree 

THE trysting tree was an ancient oak, standing 
in the centre of the forest, where the friendly birds, 
squirrels, and smaller creatures of the woods were in 
the habit of meeting each day. These meetings were 
held at about sunrise and sunset, to gossip and talk 



8 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

over the happenings of the day before, or relate the 
adventures of the night that had just passed, for 
living as they do in a world that is hostile to them, 
where they have the snares of larger animals and 
birds, as well as those of man, to avoid, it is not 
strange that many a thrilling adventure was related 
under the old trysting tree to an expectant group, 
each one of whom was silently thankful that it had 
not been he. 

Of the company that met at the oak I best remem- 
ber the following : 

There was Nimrod, the crow, as black as a coal, 
who always sat in a watchful attitude upon the top- 
most bough of the oak, balancing himself nicely, and 
looking in every direction at once. 

He was the sentinel, and his vigilance delivered 
the little people from any danger. Nimrod was a 
natural sentinel, for his croaking made him none the 
less watchful, and he could carry on a flirtation with 
a saucy jay, winking and blinking with one of his 
bright eyes, while he scanned the landscape with the 
other. But there was not very much to fear at this 
time of day ; the only enemy who would be likely to 
be about was Sparrowhawk, whose coming and 
going no one could account for. He was hated 
and feared by all the birds, as well as by the squir- 
rels, for he not only killed to satisfy his hunger, but 
also for malice. He took a particular delight in 
robbing birds' nests, eating the eggs, and killing the 



THE TRYSTING TREE 9 

young birds. So that all the birds were very care- 
ful, when building their nests, that Sparrowhawk 
was not around. 

Of the animals, cats, weasels, and foxes were the 
most to be feared, and it took the combined vigilance 
of all to scent these dangers. 

It was very strange, though, how quickly these 
little folks of the woods would completely disappear 
at a sound of warning from any one of their number. 
No matter how merrily they had been chattering 
away a minute before, at the warning note the woods 
would suddenly become as still as death, Nimrod 
would rise high in air and fly away, Ruff-grouse 
would follow his lead on silent wings, while the jays 
and the squirrels would hide in the treetop. The 
chipmunk would slip into his hole at the foot of the 
tree, and the rabbit would squat under a bush, and 
being just the color of the ground, it took the sharp- 
est eyes to discover him ; while Frisk and Frolic and 
their cousin Redder had a way of hiding that baffled 
all inquiry. 

Each of these little creatures is possessed of an 
instinct that tells him just what is the best thing to 
do in time of danger, else how could they exist in a 
world in which they have so many enemies. 

The great sun that always brings so much gladness 
into the world was just mounting up over the east- 
ern hills. His warm beams, falling upon the tree- 
tops, made bright patches of sunlight in the aisles of 



io WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

the sweet, green woods. Although the sun was very- 
early in his coming, he was not ahead of the little 
people of the woods, who are very thrifty and up 
betimes. For more than half an hour they had been 
stirring, and by the time he was quarter of an hour 
high they had all breakfasted and were ready for the 
morning meeting at the trysting tree. 

The squirrels had been away to a distant orchard 
for sweet apples ; the birds had found their usual 
number of worms and bugs by the roadside or in the 
mould beneath dead leaves and ferns, while Bob, the 
cotton-tail, had made a fine breakfast of birch twigs 
and wintergreen leaves, of which he was very fond. 

Nimrod, who had made his meal from the corn- 
field, and had afterwards taken a bath at the brook, 
was as usual the first to arrive at the tree. He at 
once proceeded to call the others with a series of 
loud " caws," for which he was famous. Then there 
was such a pattering of small feet, for the squirrels 
came running in the treetops and the rabbits on the 
ground, each chattering and scolding away in his 
own language, all of which was understood by each 
member of this great family a 

The last to arrive at the trysting tree was Chucky, 
who was so fat that he could scarcely waddle, and 
for that reason was usually late. " Hello, Chucky, 
hello," cried all the little folks in chorus, for Chucky 
was quite a favorite with them, and he amused them 
with his clumsy ways. 



THE TRYSTING TREE n 

"Well, Chucky, how are beans ? " asked Nim- 
rod, when the fat, lazy woodchuck had seated him- 
self at the foot of the tree and Nimrod had declared 
the meeting open for discussion. 

" Firstrate, Nim, firstrate," replied Chucky, with a 
grunt of deep satisfaction ; " the only trouble is I 
have eaten so many that I can hardly walk." 

"You are getting pretty free with the farmer's 
beans, and I am afraid he will get after you again, 
one of these fine mornings, with his thunderstick," 
said the crow. " That was a very close shave that 
you had the other morning, and if I hadn't happened 
along he would have got you then." 

" Tell us about it, Nimrod, tell us about it ! " cried 
all the Little Foresters. 

" Well/ said the old crow, straightening himself 
with dignity, " it isn*t very much of a story, but I do 
think that it adds another feather to the glory of the 
crow family. It was this way : 

" Chucky was down in the bean-patch getting his 
breakfast and I was sitting upon the top of the old 
maple in the mowing, when I happened to see the 
farmer coming down the road with the thunderstick 
over his arm. 

" ' Whom is he after now ? ' I thought to myself, 
and then I looked down to the bean-patch and saw 
Chucky, and the meaning of the farmer's early walk 
was plain. 

" How could I warn poor Chucky, that was the 



12 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

question. I knew that he was such a stupid fellow 
that he would not see or scent danger, and it looked 
very much as though his hide would be drying on 
the barn in another hour." At this point Nimrod 
looked seriously down at Chucky, whose hair stood 
up at the thought. 

" Well," continued the crow, " if I was to fly down 
and tell him, I would get in range myself and be pep- 
pered for my pains. You people all know I do not 
like to have my feathers ruffled with big shot. For- 
tunately I thought of that member of our family who 
dropped the stones into the pitcher and raised the 
water until he could drink, so I set my wits to work. 

" Then I had a bright idea. I flopped down to 
the ground and picked up a big pebble ; then I rose 
high in the air and went sailing over the place where 
Chucky was eating beans. I knew I was out of 
reach of the thunderstick, and so I was not afraid. 
When I got just above Chucky I dropped the stone. 
He at once raised up on his hind legs to see what 
had disturbed him and saw the farmer and started 
for his hole. ' Bang ! whang ! ' went the thunder- 
stick, but Chucky was so far away that it did no 
harm, and I tell you it didn't take him very long to 
get into his hole." 

Chucky felt very much like a hero when Nimrod 
had finished his story, and he grinned broadly, while 
the Little Foresters crowded round to tell him they 
were glad the farmer didn't get him. 



THE TRYSTING TREE 13 

" Oh, well," said Chucky, in his easy-going way, 
"I guess" — but what he would have said we do 
not know, for at a warning note from Nimrod there 
was a whirring of wings and a patter of small feet, 
but none too soon, for with a scream a large hawk 
swooped into the top of the tree after his own morn- 
ing breakfast which he was late in getting. 

The smaller birds and the squirrels fled away into 
the thickest treetops, and of a sudden the forest be- 
came as still as death. Chatterbox, the red squirrel, 
was not three feet away in a hole in the tree, but 
Redtail did not see him, and he could not have got 
him if he had, a fact the squirrel well knew, but he 
kept very still nevertheless. Redtail glared savagely 
about him. The tree had been so full of fur and 
feathers a few moments ago, and where had it all 
gone? 

Then he caught sight of Bob, the rabbit, squatting 
under a bunch of brakes, and darted down at him, 
and then a race began which would have been very 
comical had it not been a matter of life and death to 
one poor cottontail. 

Bob sprang from point to point, keeping in the 
underbrush all of the time and dodging like a bound- 
ing ball. Again and again the great bird swooped 
for him and opened his terrible talons, and poor Bob 
barely escaped. Once he even got a claw full of 
the rabbit's fuzzy fur, and left a bad wound upon his 
back, but Bob did not care for wounds as long as his 



i4 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

good, long legs were left with which to double and 
twist. 

Then Nimrod came to Bob's assistance. He 
darted at the hawk and pecked at him savagely, and 
all the time he kept up a most deafening cawing, 
partly to distract the hawk, and partly to call his 
friends whom he knew were not far distant 

Then Bob made a desperate spurt through an open 
place where he barely escaped from the talons of the 
hawk, and dove under a tangle of deep brambles and 
vines and was safe. 

" Caw, caw," cried Nimrod, derisively, "caw, caw." 
The hawk clenched his talons in fury and screamed 
back at Nimrod, and was about to fly at the brave 
crow, when he noticed several of Nimrod's friends 
coming through the woods, so he beat a hasty re- 
treat and was soon lost in the distance. 

Bob then came out of the bramble and thanked 
Nimrod for the service that he had done him, and 
then scampered away to the swamp where he lived, 
feeling that he had had excitement enough for one 
day, and thanking good fortune that he had escaped. 



A Life of Fear 

It is hard for us human beings, who live under the 
protection of the State and its laws, to realize the con- 
stant fear in which the Little People of the Forest live. 



A LIFE OF FEAR 15 

No act of their lives, from the first days of respon- 
sibility to that of their violent death (for these wild 
creatures rarely die of old age) but is done guardedly. 

The very first law that the wild creature is taught 
is that of self-preservation ; in fact, his whole life 
resolves itself into the problem of just living and 
keeping clear of all his enemies. 

Watch a woodchuck as he gets his breakfast upon 
the young clover, and see with what caution the 
meal proceeds. He nibbles away at the tender heads 
for a few moments, and then rears cautiously upon 
his haunches and looks about in all directions. He 
also sniffs the air suspiciously from the windward side, 
and takes even more care in the opposite direction. 

What need has he to be so cautious, you may ask. 
His pelt is worthless, and he cannot eat a dollar's 
worth of clover in a year. 

Well, in the first place there is a long gun that 
hangs in the kitchen over the fireplace up at the 
farmhouse. Chucky has often heard it roar on a 
summer's morning, and he carries many a small 
pellet in his tough hide that came from its grim bar- 
rel It is only because the gun is old and rusty that 
Chucky is alive at all to whistle his defiance to the 
clumsy hunter. 

Then there is Grip, the farm dog, He and Chucky 
have been sworn enemies ever since that day when 
Grip tried to pull the woodchuck from the wall and 
got a savage bite in the nose for his pains. Grip 



16 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

was a puppy then, or that bite would have been 
Chucky's last. 

Besides the farmer and the dog, there is sly Lord 
Reynard, who wishes to catch Chucky alive and 
carry him home to his den for the young foxes to 
torment and finally tear to bits. 

Occasionally he finds the dirt in the mouth of his 
hole disturbed, and then he knows a trap is buried 
there, and if he steps upon the loose dirt that he will 
be caught, so he uses the back door or seeks another 
hole until the trap is removed. 

One of these summer mornings, when he is sleep- 
ing peacefully in his snug hole, a turtle, scorching 
and smelling hideously, will come scurrying in, try- 
ing vainly to get away from the burning cotton tied 
to the back part of his shell. This is a great peril 
for Chucky, — even if he is not suffocated by smoke, 
there is danger that his nest, which is lined with hay 
and leaves, will be set afire, and he be obliged to run 
straight into the open mouth of Grip, or if he escapes 
the dog there are eager boys ready to give chase with 
clubs, and poor Chucky with his short legs and fat 
body has small chance in such a match. 

But Chucky is no more in danger than the other 
Little Foresters ; in fact, he is full as safe as any of 
them, and is supposed to live a luxurious life, free 
from care and in the midst of plenty. 

Whistle at the rabbit who is hopping peacefully 
along' the woodland path, and see with what a start- 



A LIFE OF FEAR 17 

led air he rears upon his hind legs to listen. His 
ears are erect, his eyes large with fright, and his nos- 
trils distended to catch the scent ; turning this way 
and that he tries to look in all directions at once, and 
when he does at last catch the scent, — that these 
little creatures fear above all others, — how he scur- 
ries away upon those nimble legs in which alone is 
safety ! 

Although he flees along the pathway like an 
arrow, yet he goes with caution. At the slightest 
sound he will squat under a bush and keep so still 
that even the eye of a woodsman is often deceived. 
The rabbit, by a kind provision of nature, is always 
the color of the earth, so in the autumn he is brown 
like the fallen leaves, but in winter he is white as 
snow. 

"Who are the rabbits' enemies?" I hear the 
young reader ask. 

Well, the domestic cat is crouching by the path- 
way just ahead of him waiting his coming. Redtail, 
the hawk, so far up in the sky that he is almost in- 
visible to the eye of man, is watching poor Bob, and 
if he gets out in the open he is down upon him. 
Grip, the farm dog, loves to give him a chase when 
he gets a chance. There is not much danger from 
Grip, who is not very sure on the scent or fleet of 
foot, but there is danger when fleeing from the dog 
that the cottontail will run into a snare, or be taken 
unawares by some other enemy. 



18 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

At night when he goes to sleep in his hole or a 
hollow tree, he knows not how soon the ferret may 
disturb him, and fleeing from this danger he will run 
into an open bag at the mouth of his hole. It mat- 
ters not that it is against the law to hunt him with a 
ferret, for no one is by to see but the pale moon and 
the soft stars, when he is taken from the bag and his 
neck broken, and they tell no tales. 



The Galloping Hessian 

THE Galloping Hessian was a red-crested wood- 
pecker who lived for a long time in our orchard, and 
in whom I came to take a lively interest. 

You may wonder a little at the name I gave him, 
but it was one that pleased my childish fancy, and 
when I have explained its true significance I am sure 
that you will agree with me in thinking it most ap- 
propriate. 

Now all of the members of the woodpecker family, 
not only the red-crested woodpecker, but also his 
cousin, partridge woodpecker, and their more stylish 
cousin, the pileated woodpecker, have a peculiar mo- 
tion in flying that gives the impression of a galloping 
horse. When they first spring from the tree to fly, 
they drop down fifteen or twenty feet, but quickly 
rise to about the height from which they started and 
then across the fields they go, rising and falling in 



THE GALLOPING HESSIAN 19 

their flight, for all the world like a galloping horse. 
So upon a bright spring morning, when the sun- 
beams played upon his brilliant red crest, and set ofi 
his shiny black coat to good advantage, it was very 
easy to imagine that my woodpecker was a gallop- 
ing Hessian. 

The first I ever saw of him was one warm April 
morning when I heard a great whacking out in the 
orchard, and I went to see what it was all about. 

I soon discovered that the pounding came from 
an old apple-tree, and creeping cautiously along, I 
got a fine look at him before he saw me. 

He was standing upon a decayed limb from which 
the bark had been peeled by wind and weather, 
whacking away at it like the merry little wood- 
chopper that he is 

With his sharp claws dug into the wood, he stood 
bracing himself with his tail, which was spread out 
fan-shaped. This gave him a good purchase so that 
he could ply his short, sharp bill with terrible strokes. 
The chips came down in showers, and the sharp rat- 
a-tat-tat of his blows rang out upon the morning air 
with a great noise. So fast he struck that the eye 
could not follow the motion of his head, which 
seemed all the time to be in one place, while the 
blows were so near together that it sounded like the 
long roll upon a drum, done by a very skilful drum- 
mer boy. 

Why was he working away so frantically, I won- 



20 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

dered ; but even while I asked myself the question, 
came the answer. For he stopped whacking and 
began examining the wood curiously, cocking his 
head first upon one side and then on the other. 
Then he gave two or three sharp whacks, and 
thrusting his bill deep into the wood drew out a fat 
worm which he ate with great relish. 

He had been after his breakfast. Who would 
have imagined that a bird would find his breakfast 
in a dry, dead limb, and how did he know that the 
worm was there ? Why did he try the tree where 
it was dead ? While I was still trying to solve the 
mystery, he flew away and I saw him no more that 
day, nor for several days. 

But after a few days he came back and I saw him 
frequently at the old apple-tree ; we could even hear 
his merry rat-a-tat-tat from the house when he was 
getting his breakfast or supper, 

"Whack, whack, ping, ping, 
Other birds may chirp or sing ; 
But my one song is the merry stroke 
With which I pierce the elm or oak ; 
Away with chirping and with singing, 
While I set the echoes ringing." 

This was what the Galloping Hessian always 
seemed to be saying when he perched upon a dry 
limb and plied his short, strong bill. 

But more was going on in the old apple-tree than 



THE GALLOPING HESSIAN 21 

I dreamed of these spring days, for it must be a 
hungry bird indeed that would chop away for half 
a day at a time, although I did not stop to consider 
the fact. 

About a month after the first appearance of my 
little friend in the old apple-tree I saw him come fly- 
ing, galloping as usual, across the fields and light 
upon this particular tree. I looked again, but he 
was not there. I was wondering where he could 
have disappeared to, when of a sudden he appeared 
upon the dead limb, and even while I watched him 
he disappeared in the most peculiar manner. My 
astonishment was still greater when I discovered his 
head sticking out of a hole in the tree a few feet 
further up and his bright eyes seemed to be watch- 
ing me. 

He had made him a house in the old apple-tree 
and come to live with us all the summer through. 

The next day I climbed up to investigate. It was 
a very tall apple-tree and my hair stood up as I 
looked down to the ground. 

There, just under the dead limb, the Galloping 
Hessian had built himself and Mrs. Hessian the 
cutest house that you ever saw, proof against both 
the wind and rain, and almost anything that crawls, 
creeps, or flies. He had chopped a round hole 
about three inches in diameter in toward the centre 
of the tree for three or four inches, then it suddenly 
ran straight down for six inches more, and there 



22 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

at the bottom was the nest made of hair and bits of 
fuzz, very neat and comfortable. 

One morning early in May, when the apple-blos- 
soms were sweet upon the half-leaved trees, and the 
air seemed mild and warm, there came up a terrible 
wind-storm accompanied by hail and lightning. The 
sky grew suddenly dark, the wind howled frightfully, 
and the hailstones fell like bullets. The thunder rolled 
in one continuous cannonade, and the lightning was 
so bright that I dared not look out of the window, 
but hid in the further corner of the room. 

Just before the storm came up I had seen Mr. and 
Mrs. Hessian flying home to their snug house. 
Something in the air or the sky had told them that 
it was coming. But the storm departed with the 
same haste that it had shown in coming, and the 
sun was soon shining brightly, as though it had 
never gone under the clouds. 

Then, full of boyish curiosity as to what had been 
doing outside, I went out-of-doors. Finally my 
wanderings led me to the old orchard, and then it 
was a natural thing to go to the ancient apple-tree, 
for it was one of my favorite trees. 

I could hardly believe my eyes when I beheld it 
stretched upon the ground with many of its rotten 
limbs broken in the fall ; but my first thought was of 
the Galloping Hessian and his wife. I soon dis- 
covered them galloping wildly about the orchard, 
now lighting upon this tree and now that, and never 






THE GALLOPING HESSIAN 23 

staying long in a place, and always returning to their 
ruined home. 

I clambered into the top of the tree in search of 
the woodpeckers' nest. Just at the point where they 
had pierced the tree it had split in falling, and there 
upon the ground was the carefully shaped nest, with 
the broken eggs near by. No happening of after 
years has left a deeper impression upon my mind 
than has this tragedy of the Galloping Hessian. His 
home had seemed so secure from all danger, and 
here, in the twinkling of an eye, the whole fabric 
had fallen to earth, his dream and mine alike had 
vanished. 

While I sat upon the trunk of the fallen tree, the 
woodpeckers galloped about the orchard for the last 
time as though it was hard to leave ; they hovered a 
moment over the remains of their home, then galloped 
away over the fields, and were soon lost to sight. I 
stood up that I might see them as long as possible, 
but finally the rhythmic rise and fall of the red crests 
was lost to sight, and they were gone never to return 
to the scene of their sorrow. 

I wept bitter tears in the empty nest, and tried 
vainly to piece the broken eggs together, but the 
dream was ended and I had awakened to one of the 
stern realities of nature. 



24 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 



Chucky's Last Breakfast 

It was a warm summer morning early in July, 
and the pale white streak that denotes the coming 
of daylight was just growing in the East. The sun 
would not be up for half an hour, but the birds and 
the squirrels were already stirring, for these little 
folks are very enterprising, and many of them are 
through breakfast when the sun comes up. 

Chucky was asleep down in his hole, dreaming of 
sweet clover and tender new beans. It was cool and 
pleasant underground during these hot days, and 
that was why he ate breakfast very early in the 
morning and supper late in the evening, for he was 
a lazy fellow, and hated to bestir himself when it was 
hot. 

Presently he woke up, and although his nest was 
several feet under ground and very dark, something 
told him that it was beginning to be light There is 
a way animals have of telling certain things that 
they cannot hear, see, or smell. Birds and animals 
can foretell the coming of great storms or earth- 
quakes, and man is often warned by them. 

When the miners who are digging deep down in 
the earth see the rats all leaving the mine, they 
hurry to get above the ground, for they know there 
is soon to be a terrible cave-in or explosion, and 
that the rats have scented danger. We call this 



CHUCKY' S LAST BREAKFAST 25 

instinct, but it seems like a higher intelligence that 
we do not possess. If any of Chucky's friends had 
asked him " how he knew it was day when he could 
not see the light," he would have grunted and said, 
"he just knew and that was all." 

Chucky stretched himself, rolled about in his hole, 
to get the cramps out of his joints, and thoroughly 
wake himself. What a fat, sleepy woodchuck he 
was getting to be ! How he enjoyed this living in 
the clover, fattening himself at the farmer's expense 1 
As he thought of the fine row of beans he had 
stripped the morning before for breakfast, he grinned 
and chuckled. 

How lucky he was to have discovered this de- 
serted hole two years before, and then to have 
grown up in such luxury as this ! He would stay 
here and eat beans and clover, and occasionally a 
turnip, as long as he lived. 

With these pleasant thoughts Chucky stretched 
himself again, and then crawled lazily out of his 
hole. The sun still wanted fifteen minutes of being 
up, and the air was deliciously fragrant. Chucky 
sniffed it with keen enjoyment. First on the wind- 
ward side and then in the opposite direction. It was 
more difficult to discover a foe when the wind was 
blowing his scent away from you, but finally he 
decided that the coast was clear and started gayly 
for the bean-patch. 

" Caw, caw," cried Nimrod, from far above him. 



26 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

"It is a fine morning. I am going down to the 
river for a plunge ; you had better come along and 
wash your greasy face." 

" Good luck to you," replied Chucky, with a shrill 
whistle that rang out loud and clear on the morning 
air. " I prefer beans to brooks." 

Chucky could hear Cock-robin singing in the big 
maple by the road, where he had built his nest this 
year. How pleasant the song he was singing! It 
must be fine to sing like that for one's self when- 
ever one wanted. Then for a vain moment Chucky 
wished that he was a bird, and could sing, but only 
for a moment. 

" Wheh-h-h-h," he cried with a long-drawn whistle. 
" I would much rather be a woodchuck, then one 
can have a hole to go into when he is frightened," 
and he trudged on after his breakfast. But he did 
wash his face some as he went, for the grass was 
soaking wet with dew. It was great fun to bring 
down showers of these bright drops, and smell the 
fragrance of the flowers as he stirred them. 

Soon he arrived at the bean-patch, and began his 
meal with all the zest of a boy who had done the 
chores and driven the cattle to pasture before 
breakfast. 

Chucky' s teeth were sharp, and the pods of the 
new string beans were very tender, and the way he 
stripped the hills did him credit as a hungry wood- 
chuck. Far away by the brook he could hear Nim- 



CHUCKY'S LAST BREAKFAST 27 

rod's lusty " caw, caw," and at the same time there 
was the tinkle of a cow bell up the road. The sun 
had now risen in all his glory, and his coming had 
been heralded by the Little Foresters, with song and 
chatter ; the locust, too, was singing in the grass ; it 
would be a warm day, when he sang so early. 

Nimrod flew up from the brook-side, and perched 
upon an old oak in the pasture, that he might sun 
himself after his bath, and admire the glitter of his 
feathers, for he was very vain. From his high perch 
he could see Chucky in the bean-patch, and he 
envied him his breakfast Then looking over in the 
mowing next to the bean-patch he saw something 
that made him quake with fear, for there, crouching 
behind the wall, thunderstick in hand, was the farmer, 
Nimrod fairly held his breath and his eyes grew big 
as he strained them to see what would happen next. 
The farmer peeped cautiously over the wall, but 
drew back quickly and raised the terrible thunder- 
stick ; then Nimrod knew that Chucky was eating 
his last breakfast. He could not fly above him and 
warn him as he had done before, for the thunder- 
stick would speak long before he could get there ; 
besides, he would put himself in range, and one 
crow was worth several woodchucks. But he could 
do one thing, so he raised his head, swelled out his 
breast, and sounded forth his well-known note of 
warning. " Danger, danger, danger," it seemed to 
say, and the soft morning winds wafted the sound 



28 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

far across the fields. All the Little Foresters heard 
it, and hastened to shrink away into wall or tree- 
top. Even Chucky heard it, busy as he was munch- 
ing beans, and stopping, reared cautiously upon his 
hind legs and sniffed the air. This was the farmer's 
opportunity — a stream of fire leaped from the thun- 
derstick, and its roar echoed over hill and valley. 
Chucky's hide was tough and he carried many small 
pellets in it already, but the distance was short, and 
the farmer had aimed with care. 

Nimrod saw his friend give a big jump, tumble 
over and over in the beans, and then lie quite still. 
The farmer went up and poked poor Chucky with 
his foot. He was quite dead, so he lifted him by 
the hind leg and carried him away to the house. 

Nimrod flew slowly toward the trysting tree, call- 
ing the Little Foresters as he went. There upon 
the topmost branch of the oak he sat, silent and sad. 
Soon they came flocking from field and forest, bush 
and brake, till all were assembled. " Good-morning, 
Nimrod," they cried, but the crow made no answer. 

When the tree had become fairly alive with fur 
and feathers, Nimrod cleared his throat and asked, 
"Friends, are we all here?" 

Then a hush fell on the little company, and they 
looked at each other with eyes full of fear, for all had 
heard the thunderstick. Then grave old Bob, the 
cottontail, replied from his place at the foot of the 
tree, "No, my friend, we are not all here." All 




/v 



CHUCKY REARED CAUTIOUSLY UPON HIS HIND LEGS. 



HOW COCK-ROBIN SAVED HIS FAMILY 29 

looked down at Bob, and saw that Chucky's place 
by his side was vacant. 

"Where is Chucky?" they cried in chorus. 

" That is the question," replied the old crow, with 
great deliberation, " where is Chucky ? " Then he 
told in a few broken words what he had seen, and all 
went away into the woods to think it over and each 
to grieve after his own fashion. 

Chucky had been a silent little fellow, but they all 
liked him, they had always greeted him warmly 
when he waddled into the morning circle and took 
his place at the foot of the tree. 

Ah, well, it was the way they all went, the way 
of the forest, where no creature ever dies of old age. 
But their children would take their places, and the 
world would go on just the same. 



How Cock-Robin Saved His Family 

FROM the morning of our first acquaintance Cock- 
robin has ever been the cheeriest of birds, and as the 
bird family are noted for their good spirits, this is a 
very strong statement. 

It was the first of April, the morning sun was send- 
ing its bright rays into my chamber window, to shame 
me into wakefulness, but presently I was awakened 
by a perfect flood of the most bewitching bird-song. 

I started up, rubbed my eyes, and listened, but 



3 o WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

there was no mistaking the sound : Cheery, cheery, 
cheery, chirrup, chirrup, chirrup, and in the clearest, 
strongest notes that I had ever heard from a robin. 

It may be that the song seemed the sweeter and 
clearer because it was the first robin song of the 
year ; but aside from that there was always a pecul- 
iar tenderness in the singing of Cock-robin that I 
have never heard equalled. 

I went to the window, and pulling the curtain aside 
a little, looked cautiously out, not wishing to disturb 
so welcome a friend, although I did want a glimpse 
of the performer. 

There he was upon the old elm, not ten feet from 
my window, and I stood very still lest I might dis- 
turb him. He was standing erect, with his red 
breast swelled to its utmost, and singing as though 
he would burst if the song were stopped ; but no 
one wished to stop it. 

He was a fine specimen of the American robin. 
His ruffs were very marked, and his entire plumage 
was rich and warm in tone. All of this was in direct 
contradiction of the rule that the dullest colored birds 
are the sweetest singers, for he still poured out that 
delicious song. Presently he flew away to look for 
his breakfast, and it was as though a bit of heaven 
had departed. Then it was that I noticed a peculiar 
thing about him, by which I could always tell him 
from his fellows- When he started from the elm, I 
thought that he was going to the cedar, but not so, 



HOW COCK-ROBIN SAVED HIS FAMILY 31 

for he turned and went ten feet to the west of it. 
44 Ah, he is going to the driveway," I said, but this 
guess was too previous, for he swung still more to 
the west and fluttered down into the garden. " How 
queerly he flies," I thought ; " perhaps one of his 
wings is shorter than the other," This I afterwards 
learned was the case, for he always flew tacking a 
little to the right, and his destiny was as hard to de- 
termine as to tell what a cross-eyed man is looking at. 

Cock-robin hung about the buildings for several 
days after his first appearance. As he was so sweet 
a singer you may be sure that we encouraged him 
by throwing out bread crumbs and other dainties, 
and by not frightening him. After about a week he 
disappeared for several days, but finally one morn- 
ing I heard him again. On going to the window I 
discovered that he was not alone, but perched upon 
the branch of the elm near him was a smaller robin, 
whom I guessed was a female. This guess proved 
to be the right one, for Cock-robin had been away 
courting, and had now brought home his wife, and 
together they were looking over the country and 
deciding where to build. 

We called the newcomer Brownie, from the dull 
color of her plumage, and in time grew to think 
quite as much of her as of Cock-robin himself. 
They finally decided to build in the elm, and late in 
April set to work upon the nest, and for about a 
week there was great activity in the robin family. 



32 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

They were continually flying to and fro ; bringing 
straw and mud, and also bits of twine which I sup- 
plied to help along the good work. In about a 
week the house in the elm was ready for occupancy, 
and Brownie took possession and proceeded to lay 
five blue eggs. For the next few days Cock-robin 
sang and sang, and from the sweetness of his song 
I knew that Brownie was setting, and that he was 
singing, not for me, but for his little mate upon the 
nest. 

One afternoon early in May there came up a vio- 
lent wind-storm, and the great elm bent and writhed 
and thrashed its long arms upon the roof of the 
house. When the winds had stopped blowing, and 
the rain and hail had ceased, so that small sounds 
could be heard, I discovered a great commotion in 
the family of Cock-robin. Cock-robin and Brownie 
were flying to and fro, crying, " Quit, quit, quit," so 
I went out to investigate. The reason for their cries 
was not far distant, for there in the yard was the 
mud-house that they had builded with so much 
pains, and the eggs were "all broken but two. I 
knew the robins would not use these eggs again, so 
I carried them into the house for a keepsake. 

But the robin is a cheery fellow, always ready to 
forget his grief, so Cock-robin and Brownie soon 
ceased their cries, and the very next day began 
building again in the elm in a more secure spot. 

Again the little mud-house was re-fashioned and 



HOW COCK-ROBIN SAVED HIS FAMILY 33 

more eggs were laid, and again Cock-robin sang for 
Brownie, but he could not help the rest of us hearing. 

After the young birds came he was very busy 
getting worms for them, so he did not have so much 
time for singing. 

One morning he was flying home to the house 
with an angleworm, when Sparrowhawk spied him. 
Now of all the birds that fly, Cock-robin most hated 
and feared Sparrowhawk, who is the cruellest and 
most vicious of all the hawks. Sparrowhawk kept 
very quiet until he saw where the robin went with 
the worm, and then followed as swift and as sure as 
death. Cock-robin and Brownie fought bravely, but 
they had to keep just out of his way to avoid being 
killed themselves, so finally they were driven from 
the nest, and Sparrowhawk proceeded to eat up the 
nestlings before their very eyes. I arrived upon the 
scene just in time to see Sparrowhawk fly away, 
closely pursued by the two robins. 

Again despair reigned in the family of these much 
afflicted birds. We people, possessed of higher in- 
telligence and less pluck, would probably have given 
up at this point, but not so the robins. It was a long 
time before I could find their third nest, but finally I 
happened upon it in the stump of an old apple-tree. 
With one more mishap, narrowly averted by Cock- 
robin's pluck and presence of mind, a family was 
finally reared. 

It was nearly the middle of July when the family 



34 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

was hatched, and even then they had a narrow es- 
cape of which I was a distant witness. 

I had been down in the meadows one morning 
trout-fishing, and was returning to the house, when 
I stopped to rest at a favorite seat under a maple in 
the pasture. I had been seated but a minute when 
I heard the distressed " quit, quit, quit " of a robin. 
At first I could not locate the cries, but finally I de- 
cided that they came from the old stump where 
Cock-robin lived, although it was nearly forty rods 
away. Usually I could not have heard a robin at 
that distance, but the morning was very clear, and 
what little breeze there was blew in my direction. 

To make sure I stood up, and by straining my 
sight could just see a robin flying wildly about the 
old stump, but no cause for the commotion could I 
see. But it was very evident from the bird's rapid 
flight that something was the matter, so I resorted 
to the use of a small opera-glass that I frequently 
carry for the study of birds. With the aid of the 
glass I could see the robin quite plainly. It was 
Brownie, and something was clearly the matter. 
There was also another robin coming like the flight 
of an arrow from the woods near by, and by the cir- 
cular manner of its flight I knew that the second bird 
was Cock-robin. It was very strange. What could 
it all mean ? Then I fell to examining the old stump 
closely through my glass, and when I finally discov- 
ered the cause of all this commotion my astonish- 



HOW COCK-ROBIN SAVED HIS FAMILY 35 

merit was so great that the glass nearly fell from my 
hand. 

There upon the stump of the apple-tree, wriggling 
and writhing every minute nearer and nearer to the 
nest of young birds, was the hideous form of a huge, 
black snake, who was known among the Little For- 
esters as Black Lightning. 

I was so far away from the scene of this tragedy 
that I could do nothing, for the snake would reach 
the nest long before I could reach the tree. I could 
merely stand where I was and see how it all ended. 
My sympathy was all that I could give the birds this 
time. 

Up, up crept the hideous writhing form of the 
snake, with Brownie darting at it and the snake 
striking at her every time she came near enough for 
a blow. Every second brought him nearer to the 
nest, and I could see no possible escape for the young 
birds. True, Cock-robin was coming like a brave 
knight-errant to their rescue, but what could he do 
against the ugly snake ? 

Black Lightning had now wriggled his way up to 
within two or three feet of the nest. If Cock-robin 
is to do anything it must be done quickly, and as 
though in answer to my thought he shot into the cir- 
cle swept by my glass. Straight up to the nest he 
flew, and hovered a moment over it almost within 
reach of the snake. He then drew back two or three 
rods, where both he and Brownie circled about watch- 



36 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

ing the snake intently. He has given up the fight, I 
thought, and I was disappointed, for I had expected 
to see so valiant a bird make a brave stand for his 
nest and his young. Then the snake wriggled a 
foot or two nearer the nest and raised his ugly head 
for his prize, but instead of making a meal of the 
fledgelings, he suddenly began to wriggle about as 
though discomfited by something, and then to my 
great astonishment he began to descend in haste, 
when a few feet from the ground he let go his hold 
and tumbled into the grass. 

I did. not wait to see more, but made all haste 
across lots to the old stump to discover if possible 
how Cock-robin had foiled his enemy. 

When I reached the tree nothing was to be seen 
of the snake, and Cock-robin and his mate were twit- 
tering softly about the nest. 

" How in the world did you do it?" I asked, in- 
voluntarily speaking aloud, and as though in answer 
to my query, Cock-robin lifted something from the 
nest and dropped it upon the ground at the foot of 
the tree. 

I stooped to examine it. It was a spray of three 
or four very bright green leaves of some plant that I 
was not familiar with, having a very rank odor. I 
picked the leaves up to examine them more closely, 
but the sap from the broken end of the branch made 
my skin burn, and my eyes began to smart and water 
from looking at it, while a nausea like sea-sickness 



HOW COCK-ROBIN SAVED HIS FAMILY 37 

seized me. With a shudder I flung the poisonous 
plant away, and none too soon, for in two hours my 
hand was swollen badly and my eyes were nearly 
closed with inflammation. 

I searched all my books upon botany to identify 
the plant, but have never been able to do so. I am 
confident that it is not generally found in the tem- 
perate zone, but was some poisonous tropical plant, 
the seed of which had, by some strange chance, been 
dropped in our soil. But even so, it is still a mystery 
how Cock-robin knew where it was growing, and by 
what instinct he knew that it was poisonous to the 
snake. 

I had often read of like incidents in tropical coun- 
tries, but had been doubtful of their truth, but here 
was a demonstration of it at my very door. 

After all, was it any more wonderful than a thou- 
sand things that we see and hear in the animal and 
plant life about us every day ? Life without intelli- 
gence living intelligently, and small creatures with- 
out reason showing a deeper intelligence in many 
things than man. 

I am still pondering over these things, even as the 
poet Bryant wondered as he saw the wild goose tak- 
ing its unerring flight through the trackless heavens 
without a compass, yet guided by some instinct or 
intelligence across a continent to the very inlet or 
bay, or even the nesting place, that it has left six 
months before. 



38 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

NOTE. The author has frequently seen it stated 
that the leaves of the white ash dropped upon a 
snake have a paralyzing effect. It is also said that 
some ground birds protect their nests by partially 
covering them with white ash leaves. 



Frisk and Frolic 

FRISK and Frolic were a beautiful pair of gray 
squirrels who lived in an old sugar orchard, where 
they had the most ideal home that a pair of squirrels 
ever possessed. 

In the first place the grove in which they lived is 
what is called " first growth " and very tall, and a 
gray squirrel will not demean himself by living in 
small trees. He likes to be up in the world, where 
he can look down upon his fellow-creatures and get 
a good view of what is going on. And besides being 
tall trees, the old maples were full of sweet seeds in 
the early autumn. If you had gone into the woods 
any morning in October, and had sat very still under 
one of these great trees, you would soon have heard 
tiny bits of something falling, and if you were a 
woodsman you would at once know that the squir- 
rels were at work. 

Then a little further on in the woods there was a 
hickory grove, and here in the autumn was a feast 
that did the heart of a squirrel good just to look 



FRISK AND FROLIC 39 

upon, for there among the leaves were walnuts, and 
what squirrel does not know the taste of a shagbark ? 
But they did not usually eat them at once, but stored 
them away in the nest until winter came. Then 
when the winds howled outside, and the snow was 
deep upon the ground, and it was impossible to 
gather mast, thanks to his forethought the squirrel 
could sit comfortably in his hole, nibbling away at 
the sweet meat of the walnut 

Still further on in the woods there was an occa- 
sional chestnut, and Frisk always made it a point to 
pick out a fine tree of these nuts and mark it for his 
own. Then some night, just at dusk, when some- 
thing told him that there was to be a hard frost, he 
would go and drop down a bushel or two of burrs, 
the largest upon the tree, for a squirrel is very par- 
ticular about his nuts, and always has the best that 
the tree affords. 

Then in the morning he would go to his tree and 
find that all had happened just as he expected, for 
there upon the ground would be his chestnut burrs 
all nicely opened by the frost. 

Some of my little readers may ask, How did Frisk 
know that there was to be a frost that night? I 
shall have to answer that I do not understand how 
he knew, or how all the Little Foresters know a 
great many things that they do know. But it seems 
to be given them to understand many things that man 
does not, so that they may take advantage of them. 



40 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

There was also a fine apple orchard near the 
sugar camp, where Frisk and Frolic occasionally 
went for sweet apples ; but they did not like to ven- 
ture so near the house. Besides, the apple orchard 
belonged to their noisy Cousin Redder, who de- 
lighted above all things to tease the. gray cousins, 
and play pranks upon them. 

If Cousin Redder saw the gray squirrels in his 
apple orchard he would straightway set up such a 
chattering and scolding that they were soon glad to 
leave, although each usually carried away a sweet 
apple to the maple woods, where they could eat it 
in quiet. 

For all Cousin Redder is so noisy a chap, he is 
not a provident squirrel, as he never lays up any 
store for the winter, and often gets very hungry 
during the cold months. One winter he got so 
starved out that he would have died, had not Frolic 
taken pity on him and dropped down a few nuts 
each morning when he came to the foot of their tree 
to beg for his breakfast. This was very kind of the 
Grayers, and Cousin Redder was never so saucy 
after that, and did not object to their coming into 
his orchard the following summer. 

It was a pleasant sight to see Frisk and Frolic 
playing on an autumn morning in the tops of the 
great maples. Back and forth they would go, run- 
ning in the very tops of the trees, leaping from limb 
to limb as easily and as gracefully as a bird moves 



FRISK AND FROLIC 41 

in the air. They rarely lose their hold, for if they 
cannot catch by their feet they will grasp the limb 
with their teeth. If they do happen to fall, they 
spread out as flat as possible, and come down 
through the air almost as slowly as a leaf, and the 
alighting does not seem to bother them at all. For 
sheer sport I have often seen them jump from the 
top of a tall tree to the base of another tree, forty or 
fifty feet away. I do not think if he were put to it 
that a squirrel would hesitate to jump from the top 
of a church steeple, although it makes us shudder to 
think of such a thing. 

But God has made these little fellows for running 
and jumping, and he taught them how to do it 
when he put the first pair in the treetops. 

The happiest morning in all the year for the 
squirrel family is that when the baby squirrels come. 
Then Frisk and Frolic cease their chattering and 
playing and go soberly about their business, for 
they have more important matters to attend to. The 
babies are such helpless little mites that it takes all 
of Frolic's time to cuddle them in the nest and keep 
them warm, and Frisk is very busy providing break- 
fast and supper for his family. But as the summer 
days come and go the baby squirrels grow strong 
until they can roll and tumble about the nest 
Finally they even go away into the treetops to learn 
of their parents the art of running and jumping, 
which is a squirrel's greatest delight. 



42 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

But a squirrel's life is not all joy, for they have 
their trials and tribulations as well as all things that 
live, and they must be ever on the lookout or in 
some unguarded moment something will do them 
harm. There is Redtail, the great hawk, who lives 
in the sky. There is nothing that he likes better for 
breakfast than a fat squirrel, and there is no account- 
ing for his coming and going. 



Billy Wilson's Box Trap 

One rainy day while Billy Wilson was playing in 
the garret, where there were so many wonderful 
things and always something new, he found a queer 
box that he had never seen before. It had a sort of 
door, or cover, that lifted up by a string running to 
the back of the box, where a stick was stuck through 
a hole inside. For a while he amused himself by 
lifting the door and letting it down with a loud 
bang. . 

Finally he took the box downstairs to his grand- 
father to ask what it was, for grandfather knew 
everything and was always ready to answer ques- 
tions. Billy had always claimed that a grandfather 
was the next best thing in the world to a Shetland 
pony. 

"Grandpa," he cried, all excitement, running into 
the old man's room with the strange house under 



BILLY WILSON'S BOX TRAP 43 

his arm, " I have just found the queerest kind of a 
house with a funny door that is not like a door at all. 
What do you think it is, grandpa ?" 

Grandpa took his spectacles from his pocket and 
put them on, for his eyesight was poor and he could 
not tell a wheelbarrow from a wagon without his 
specs. 

" Why, Willie," he said, " you have found the old 
box trap. I have caught many a squirrel in it in 
my day. It is one that I made when I was a boy." 
Then he showed Willie how to pass the string over 
the end of the box and catch the small stick at the 
end of the string in a slit in the spindle. They then 
fastened a part of an ear of corn to the spindle inside 
the little house, and the trap was baited and set. 
" Now, Willie," said grandpa, " you take a stick and 
touch the corn and see what will happen*" Willie 
did as he was told, and to his great astonishment 
the door of the box dropped suddenly and caught 
the stick. 

That afternoon when it had stopped raining, Billy 
took the funny little house under his arm and started 
for the orchard where he had decided would be the 
best place to catch a squirrel. 

He found a smooth stone upon the top of the wall 
where the trap would rest firmly, and here he placed 
it with the door pointing toward the woods. He 
carefully baited it with an ear of corn, then sat down 
at a distance to see what happened, for Billy ex- 



44 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

pected that a squirrel would come along and be 
caught at once. 

He amused himself for a long time munching 
apples and watching the trap, but as no squirrel ap- 
peared, he finally went home, where he found his 
particular friend, Frank Snow, waiting for him. 
Frank had come over to see the new swing that 
Billy's father had put up for him the day before in 
the big elm. It was the best swing in the neighbor- 
hood, and the boys were all eager to try it. So Billy 
and Frank amused themselves for a long time with 
the swing, and when they were tired of swinging 
they went to the barn where the mows were filled 
with new hay. What country boy does not like to 
play upon a new haymow ? The hay is so fragrant, 
the mow so soft and springy, and it is such fun to 
jump from the big beams. Frank and Billy had 
such a fine play that afternoon that Billy forgot all 
about his box trap, nor did he remember it even in 
the evening. 

That night when Billy came to the supper table, 
to his great delight he found a crisp new mince pie 
looking smilingly up at him, and his mouth watered 
at the thought of its delicious contents of raisins, 
currants, and preserves. 

Billy never knew where his first piece of pie went 
to, it disappeared so quickly, and he passed his plate 
for another. 

" I am afraid it will not be good for you," said his 



BILLY WILSON'S BOX TRAP 45 

mother. 4< It is very rich and may give you bad 
dreams." 

" Oh, no, it won't, mother," cried Billy ; " I know 
it won't, will it, pa?" Billy knew that his father 
was more apt to indulge him than his mother, so 
he always appealed to him at such times. 

Billy held up his plate so beseechingly and his 
father put in a plea for him, so that he got a second 
piece of mince pie. 

That night when he lay in his little bed watching 
the moon through the window, he thought of his 
box trap and wondered how he could have so long 
forgotten it. " I hope I'll have a squirrel in the 
morning," he said to himself, and with these words 
he fell asleep. 

The next thing Billy remembered he was walking 
in a beautiful wood. It was summer time, birds 
were singing and everything was more beautiful 
than he had ever seen it before. 

He walked on for a long time through the shady 
avenues, admiring the flowers and listening to the 
bird songs. Presently he strolled under a great oak, 
where to his astonishment he found the cutest little 
house that he had ever seen in all his life. 

There were four or five windows and one door, 
which was open wide. Billy went in and sat down 
in a little chair which fitted his size so well that he 
thought it must be made for him. 

Upon the floor there was a fine carpet, and at the 



46 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

further end of the house was a table with dishes on 
it, but they were covered over with a spread, so that 
Billy could not see what was there. He went and 
lifted up the spread and peeked under, and what he 
saw made him shout with delight, for the table was 
covered with goodies, pies, cakes, and doughnuts, 
and in the middle of the table was a big basket of 
candy. 

Then Billy remembered that he was terribly 
hungry. Why, it seemed to him that he had never 
been so hungry before in all his life, so he sat down 
and began to eat. Pies and cake disappeared as 
though by magic, until there was nothing left but 
the basket of candy. 

Then Billy reached for that, but he no sooner 
touched the handle of the basket than there was a 
loud bang that made him jump up and look around ; 
to his great astonishment he found that the door by 
which he had entered had shut. This did not trouble 
him much, though, at first. When he wanted to go 
out he would open it, for who ever heard of a door 
that would shut and not open, so he sat down again 
and began eating the candy, but it did not taste as 
good as he had expected, so he stopped and went 
to examine the door. 

He looked it over from top to bottom, but could 
find no knob or latch. Then he pushed upon it, 
gently at first, and then with all his might, but it 
would not give an inch. It was very strange ; Billy 



BILLY WILSON'S BOX TRAP 47 

began to grow uneasy and turned his attention to 
the windows. These he found to his surprise were 
covered with iron bars. It was queer he had not 
noticed it before, but he had been so greedy that he 
had seen little except the pies and cakes. 

Then he began to get uneasy, and walked up and 
down, trying first the door and then a window, but 
both were quite tight. There was the basket of 
candy which he had hardly touched, but he had no 
appetite for it, or for anything else. He could not 
stay still. It was so lonesome and so quiet in the 
little house. Perhaps the door would open in a few 
minutes and he would go home to his folks. At the 
thought of home and parents, Billy's lip quivered, — 
he might never see them again. Perhaps it was a 
bear's house into which he had walked, and they 
would soon be home and eat him. At the thought 
of such possibilities he began walking up and down 
very fast, striking and kicking at the door and shout- 
ing for help. 

" Papa, papa ; mother, mother," he cried, " come 
and get me, I am caught in a terrible house and 
cannot get out." 

The more he cried and pounded the more fright- 
ened he became. He shook the bars of the windows 
and bit them with his teeth, until at last he fell down 
exhausted. 

Then he heard a noise like the sound of a great 
army marching. Tramp, tramp, tramp, it went, and 



48 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

the ground shook with each step. Billy climbed up 
quickly to one of the windows and peeked out, but 
what he saw made him nearly lose his hold and fall 
to the floor, for coming- through the woods was a 
giant as tall as the tallest tree, and every time he 
stepped, the ground trembled. Presently he began 
to sing, and the sound of his voice was like the 
heaviest thunder. 

"I am the giant who lives in the woods, 
Far up the mountain side. 
When the people hear me they hasten away, 
And all in their houses hide. 

"I live upon cattle, on cattle and corn, 
I eat up a heifer each day. 
When I am thirsty I drink in the stream, 
I'll drink up the river some day." 

Here the song ceased, but Billy could hear the 
echoes of it rolling away over the hills like distant 
thunder. The tread of the giant was growing louder. 
Billy's hair stood up and his teeth knocked together. 

He dared not peek out of the window lest he should 
see the giant's terrible face and die of fright, so he 
crouched down in a corner and waited. 

Tramp, tramp, tramp, came the great feet of the 
giant, right up to the little house, and then to his 
terror Billy felt the house lifted up and set in the top 
of a tree. Then the door was raised a very little and 
Billy could not help looking up. 



BILLY WILSON'S BOX TRAP 49 

The giant's face was covered with whiskers, but 
Billy could see two eyes like great red lanterns, and 
a double row of teeth that were so large they made 
cold shivers run down his. back, and his breath nearly 
left him he was so frightened. 

" Oho," roared the giant, " I have got you at last, 
you little rogue, and ain't you cunning ? I'll take 
you home and the children shall have you to play 
with. 

" You did not know what a box trap was, did you ? 
You thought it was a little house," and the giant 
laughed until the woods rang. He then lifted the 
house upon his shoulders and Billy felt himself borne 
swiftly away over the treetops to an unknown land. 

The giant took such long steps that it jounced the 
little house on his shoulder, and Billy tumbled about 
in a most uncomfortable manner, but he did not mind 
this, for his mind was filled with awful forebodings 
as to what the giant would do with him when he 
reached home. He had read of giants who even ate 
boys, and he thought perhaps this might be one of 
the hungry kind. By-and-by he could hear water 
splashing every time the giant stepped, and he 
thought they must be crossing a river, which was 
the case. After they had crossed, the giant began 
climbing a very steep mountain, and here he oc- 
casionally stopped to rest. Once he stopped to get 
himself a cane which he made from a small tree about 
a foot through and twenty feet long ; this he dug 



5 o WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

into the ground to help himself along as he climbed 
the mountain. 

By-and-by he stopped in front of a great hole or 
cave in the side of the mountain, and thumped upon 
a tree trunk with his cane until the woods rang with 
the blows. " Mehitable," he thundered in his ter- 
rible voice, " I am here ; come out and see what I 
have caught in the box trap." Pretty soon a giant- 
ess, nearly as large as the giant, came out bringing 
the baby in her arms. The giant baby was crying, 
and the noise he made was as loud as the bellowing 
of a bull. It made Billy's ears ache to hear him, but 
the mother did not seem to mind it. 

Then the giant opened the door of the box trap 
and the giantess peeped in. Her face did not scare 
Billy as the giant's did, for it was not all whiskers, 
but it was enough to terrify a small boy. 

"Take him out, Thunderbolt," said the giantess, 
"and let me see him." Then the giant reached in 
his great hand and took Billy out, nearly smothering 
him in so doing. Billy was awfully frightened to 
have the giant touch him, for his hand was so strong 
that he was afraid he would crush him before he 
thought, even if he did not mean to do him harm. 

"My, ain't he pretty?" said the giantess; "see 
how he trembles. I guess he is scared to death. 
But won't he be a cute little thing for the baby to 
play with ? You don't suppose that he would bite 
him, do you, Thunderbolt?" 



BILLY WILSON'S BOX TRAP 51 

" He had better not," roared Thunderbolt, in tones 
like the deepest thunder ; " if he does, I will drop 
him into the soup kettle some fine morning." - 

Presently the baby reached out his hand, and the 
giantess gave him Billy to hold. The baby was as 
strong as an ordinary man, and he held Billy so 
tight that he nearly squeezed his breath out. He 
would have kicked the baby if he had dared. Then 
the little giant put Billy's head in his mouth and al- 
most smothered him, but the giantess came to the 
rescue and put him back in the little house. 

Then the giant and his family all went into the 
cave and had dinner. When they had finished, they 
brought out some for Billy — a whole ham, half a 
bushel of potatoes, and a pie as big as a washtub. 
Billy was so tired and scared that he was not hungry, 
but he did not dare to refuse to eat, so he tried two 
or three potatoes and a bit of the ham. 

The giant family watched while he was eating, and 
the baby kept reaching for him through the windows 
of the house. After the giant family had got tired 
of handling him, during which Billy thought that all 
of his bones would be broken, they left him in the box 
trap and went in for a nap. Soon he heard them all 
snoring, making a noise like the howling of the 
wind. 

Although he was very tired, Billy could not sleep. 
What would become of him in this awful land? He 
could not get out of the box trap, and even if he did, 



52 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

he could never find his way back home, or get across 
the deep river the giant had waded. If he ran away 
they would pursue him and bring him back, then he 
would be put in the soup kettle, or worse, they might 
eat him alive. His hair stood up with fright as he 
recalled these words in "Jack the Giant Killer " : 
" Fe, fi, fo, fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman ; 
be he alive or be he dead, I'll grind his bones to 
make me bread." 

These giants must eat boys as well as those in the 
days of Jack, and that would probably be his end. 

Then he thought of his folks, but could get little 
comfort. They never could find him in this horrible 
country, and even if they did, his father could do 
nothing with the giant, who would eat them all 

Billy crawled away into one corner of the little 
house and began to cry softly. He did not dare to 
cry aloud, for he was afraid of waking the giant 
family. But the baby heard him and came creeping 
out to see what the noise was. Billy at once stopped 
crying when he saw him looking at him, and sat up 
straight. Then the baby began to talk to him, but 
he could not understand. 

When the giant baby had looked at Billy for 
awhile, he began tumbling the little house about to 
amuse himself. Over and over it went ; and Billy 
rolled about inside, bumping his head in a most un- 
pleasant manner. Further and further along the 
mountainside the baby rolled the little house, and 




WHAT A CUTE LITTLE HOUSE IT WAS. 



BILLY WILSON'S BOX TRAP 53 

Billy saw to his horror that they were nearing a 
precipice, the bottom of which he could hardly see. 
He screamed for help, but his voice sounded like a 
mere squeak after that of the giants who were now 
sleeping and did not hear him. Nearer and nearer 
to the precipice came the little house until it was on 
the brink. Billy shut his eyes and stopped scream- 
ing. Then the baby gave it a push and Billy felt 
himself falling. Down, down he went ; at last he 
struck with a terrific bang that brought his teeth 
together with a snap. 

Then he sat up and rubbed his eyes, and to his 
great astonishment found himself sitting on the floor 
beside his own bed, with the moonlight streaming in 
at the window, just as when he fell asleep. 

He rubbed his eyes again and pinched himself to 
make sure that he was not still asleep, but it hurt, 
so he knew he was awake. 

Then he got up and wiped the sweat from his fore- 
head and peeked out of the window. There in the 
yard was the great elm and the new swing that his 
father had made for him the day before. There was 
no dream about that, he was safe at home in his own 
room and it was still night. The box trap and the 
giants had all been a bad dream, and with a sigh of 
relief he got back into bed, where he slept soundly 
until morning. 

When he did awake it was broad daylight. The 
morning sun was streaming in at the bedroom win° 



54 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

dow, and the robin and oriole were singing as 
though their throats would split. 

Billy dressed hurriedly and went down to break- 
fast. At the table he was so quiet and thoughtful 
his mother thought he must be sick, but on seeing 
his rosy cheeks she concluded he was quite well 

As soon as breakfast was over, Billy put on his 
cap, and telling his mother he was going to the 
orchard, was off, running as fast as his legs could 
carry him. 

While Billy is on his way to the orchard, let us re- 
turn to his box trap and see what has been happen- 
ing there. 

Early in the afternoon of the previous day, Frisk, 
the gray squirrel who lived in the sugar orchard, 
near the apple orchard, said "good-by" to Frolic 
and his baby squirrels, and started for the orchard in 
search of sweet apples for his family. Frolic left the 
babies just long enough to go with him to the edge 
of the maple grove. " Now take good care of your- 
self," she said, as he dashed away toward the wall 
where Billy's box trap was set. Frisk chattered back 
gayly to his mate as he jumped from stone to stone 
and finally disappeared in the distance, and Frolic 
went back to the baby squirrels in the tree. 

Frisk was running so rapidly along the wall that 
he did not notice the little house until he was almost 
upon it. Then he stopped suddenly, almost in front 
of the door. 



BILLY WILSON'S BOX TRAP 55 

What a cute little house it was, just large enough 
for a squirrel, and there was a fine ear of corn inside. 

It was very strange, he thought, as he cocked his 
head upon one side and peeked into the door, that 
any one should have left their house in this way on 
the wall, and also that they left the ear of corn inside. 
Frisk had heard of traps, but as he was a young 
squirrel had never seen one. He did not think this 
could be a trap, it was more like a squirrel house. 

Perhaps it was one that some good person had 
built especially for his family. He stepped one paw 
into the house and then stopped, but the ear of corn 
was so tempting that he could not resist the tempta- 
tion to go in. They had not had any corn since the 
winter supply gave out two months ago. How good 
it would taste ; but he would not eat it himself, he 
would carry it home to his Frolic. 

So he took hold of the ear and pulled gently, but 
it seemed to be fastened and he pulled harder, then 
the door of the little house came down with a bang, 
and Frisk knew that it was a trap and he was caught. 
He never would see Frolic or the baby squirrels 
again. 

We have seen how Billy felt when he thought he 
was caught in a box trap, and squirrels feel much as 
folks do in like places, so we will not dwell upon the 
terrors of the poor gray squirrel that night in the 
box trap, but will pass on to the morning when Billy 
went out to the orchard to see his box trap. 



56 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

As he neared the old apple-tree his heart beat fast 
with excitement. But when he saw that the trap had 
been sprung, his face fell ; he had hoped there would 
be nothing in the trap, for he intended to carry it 
home and put it away in the garret. 

Billy tiptoed up to the trap and peeked in, and 
there in one corner, trembling with fear, and with 
eyes big with fright, he beheld a beautiful gray squir- 
rel. The inside of the trap was strewn with bits of 
wood that the squirrel had gnawed from its sides in 
his efforts to escape, and his jaws were bloody from 
gnawing. 

" Ain't he a beauty/' thought Billy. " How I 
would like to keep him in a cage and have him to 
look at." Then he thought of his own experience 
the night before, and wavered. But it was only for 
a moment ; his better self conquered. Then with a 
quick motion, as though he dared not trust himself 
to consider, he lifted the door of the trap. With a 
grateful chatter and a patter of small feet upon the 
wall, Frisk was gone to the maple grove, and he did 
not waste many moments in getting home to Frolic 
and his baby squirrels. 

Billy shouldered the box trap and trotted home 
with it, feeling very happy and glad that he had let 
the squirrel go. 

" Ho, ho," said grandpa, when he saw Billy com- 
ing ; " so you are tired of trapping, are you ? " 

" No," said Billy ; " I caught a gray squirrel, but I 



THE END OF BLACK LIGHTNING 57 

thought it was too bad to keep him in a cage when 
he wanted to be free, so I let him go." 

" Well, I guess that is the best way," said grandpa, 
trying hard not to laugh at the boy's sober, disap- 
pointed face. " You put up the trap and come into 
the woodshed and I will make you a new kite ; " and 
grandpa made the tallest kite that Billy had ever 
seen. 



The End of Black Lightning 

Black Lightning was a terrible black snake that 
inhabited the woods where the Little Foresters dwelt 
Each spring he would make his appearance in May 
or June, and then he would prowl about the woods 
and along the sunny roadway until late in October, 
when he would den up and sleep until spring. 

Of all who dwelt in the forest, Black Lightning 
was most feared by the Little Foresters next to 
Sneak, the weasel. He was so cunning and so full 
of tricks with which to entrap them. He was al- 
ways lying in wait by the pathways that they best 
loved to use, and his coming was so still that no one 
was safe from him. 

He was not even contented with gliding about 
upon the ground, doing what mischief he could 
there, but even took to the treetops when he was 
uncommonly hungry. Here he would lie in the 
foliage, coiled upon a branch in such a way that no 



58 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

one could see him until an unsuspecting squirrel or 
bird came his way, when his ugly head would dart 
out and grab the unfortunate one. When he had 
squeezed the life out of it, he would drop the victim to 
the ground and crawl down and eat it at his leisure. 

Black Lightning was not even bold and daring 
like Sparrowhawk, but he would steal about, poking 
his head under old stumps and in hollow logs, that 
he might find a nest of baby rabbits, or some young 
birds to devour. If the mother and father were 
gone, he would at once fall upon the helpless ones 
and eat them. Once Bob caught him just as he 
was about to make a breakfast upon his baby rab- 
bit; and a severe drubbing he gave him, striking 
him again and again with his hind paws — with 
which the rabbit fights — until the old coward was 
glad to glide away in the grass and nurse his wounds. 

Like Sneak, Black Lightning had no friends in 
the forest, so that when he was run over by a 
wagon and his back nearly broken, no one was 
sorry and they all said it was a pity that he did not 
die. 

It was the latter part of June, and so pleasant in 
the woods that the birds and squirrels were always 
singing and chattering about it. I imagine they 
were afraid that man, who is so busy with farm- 
ing and building, would not notice how sweet the 
air was and how fair the flowers, so they were con- 
tinually telling him, lest he should forget. 



THE END OF BLACK LIGHTNING 59 

Black Lightning had been out for at least two 
weeks, and as he was always very hungry when 
he first appeared, he had been especially annoying 
to the birds and squirrels. No morning had passed 
at the trysting tree without some account of his ter- 
rible doings. He had found Brownbird's nest hidden 
in the grass by a pathway, and had devoured three 
fledgelings that were just hatched. He had robbed 
nests of eggs by the dozen, and Cock-robin's own 
family had narrowly escaped being devoured. 

He had even been in the treetops, searching for 
nests and young birds. The birds and the squirrels 
considered that the trees belonged to them. Black 
Lightning was bad enough when he kept to the 
ground, but when he even came into the trees it 
was too much to bear, and so with good reason the 
indignation against the snake grew, until one morn- 
ing Nimrod called a meeting especially to consider 
the case, and see if something could not be done to 
rid the forest of this monster. 

Either Redtail or Danger, the great white owl, 
might have killed the snake for them, but both 
were enemies of the birds and squirrels, so help was 
not likely to come from that quarter, unless the owl 
or the hawk should find him some day asleep and 
carry him off of their own accord. 

One would never have guessed from the bright- 
ness of the sun, or the fragrance of June roses, that 
the Little Foresters were so sorely tried by the 



60 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

ravenous snake. Nor would he have guessed it, 
had he seen the birds and squirrels as they assem- 
bled at the old oak, for they sang and chattered in 
their old merry manner. 

Finally Nimrod came sailing over the tops of the 
trees in that majestic way he had, and lighted on 
his usual perch, which was the topmost bough of 
the tree. 

Then, after the morning salutations had been ex- 
changed, in a few well chosen words, he explained 
the particular business before the meeting, and 
asked if any one had any plan for the entrapping or 
the killing of Black Lightning. 

Frisk, the gray squirrel, thought that Bob, the old 
rabbit, might be appointed by the chairman to do 
the job, at which Bob looked anxious and thought 
that some one else might be found who could do it 
better. 

It was one thing to attack the snake when he was 
about to devour his family, but quite another to go 
after him and slay him when there was no family to 
inspire one. 

"Of course, no bird can attempt it," said Cock- 
robin, to which the thrush, the jay, the sparrow, the 
bobolink, the phcebe, and a score of others all as- 
sented with chirp and twitter. 

" I don't see how a squirrel can do it, either," ex- 
claimed Redder, who always gave his opinion 
whether it was asked or not. 



THE END OF BLACK LIGHTNING 61 

This time, however, his opinion was echoed by 
Grayer, Chipmunk, and their sleepy cousin, Flyer ; 
so that settled it as far as the squirrel family was 
concerned. 

The old crow looked down at his followers and 
chuckled. It amused him very much to see how 
willing each one was that some one else should 
attack the snake, and how reluctant each was to do 
it himself. It was a fine study of the willingness of 
people to put others in positions where they would 
not want to be themselves. 

"Well," said Nimrod at last, "I do not see but 
what we shall have to get the field-mouse to kill 
Black Lightning for us. Friend Field-mouse is not 
present this morning and so cannot object;" and 
the old crow chuckled again and looked down scorn- 
fully at his followers, who felt ashamed. 

" I move that we hear from our wise chairman 
upon the subject. His words are always full of wis- 
dom," said Bob, the cottontail, from his position at 
the foot of the tree. 

" Good ! Good ! " cried all the little people, with 
chirrup and chatter. 

Nimrod straightened himself and looked down in 
a dignified manner at bird, squirrel, and rabbit. It 
greatly flattered and pleased him to be well spoken 
of, for he was the most vain of them all, a fact that 
the wise rabbit well knew, and he also knew that if 
anything was to be gotten from Nimrod, that this 



62 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

was the quickest and best way to get it, and he had 
a suspicion that Nimrod had some plan for ridding 
the woods of Black Lightning. 

"Well," said Nimrod, at length, when he had 
admired the plumage of his wing, which glistened 
in the sunlight and greatly pleased him, " I suppose 
that the crow family is famed for its sagacity. It is 
not anything that I take any particular credit to 
myself for, but merely the advantage of being well 
born. I indeed have a plan, which I will disclose if 
you will all be attentive and not interrupt me." 

" Good ! Good ! " cried all the birds and squirrels 
in chorus. " Tell us, Nimrod ; tell us." 

The old crow gave a long caw to clear his throat 
and began. 

" Many, many years ago, long before the memory 
of any one now living, unless it is our friend Turtle, 
who lives down at the brookside, my great-great- 
grandfather lived in these woods, and I dare say he 
has perched many a time upon this very branch 
where I am now standing. He was a large, strong 
crow, and a fine flyer. But his greatest quality was 
his wisdom. It is often said in the crow family that 
I am like him." Here Nimrod paused to chuckle 
and admire his plumage. 

" Well, my great-great-grandfather took it into his 
head to travel. He wanted to know what was in the 
world and to make himself acquainted with all coun- 
tries. So he decided to start out, and in order not 



THE END OF BLACK LIGHTNING 63 

to be flying around in a great circle and finally come 
back where he started from, he decided to always 
travel toward the setting sun. He thought that 
when he was ready to come back he could travel 
toward the rising sun and that would bring him 
safe back. It is a very wise plan and one that none 
but the crow would have thought of. 

" There was a great meeting of the crows to wish 
him a fine journey and good luck, and he set out. 
For days and months he travelled over hills and 
valleys like these where we live, flying by day and 
roosting in the top of a fir-tree by night. This was 
the safest way to do ; besides, he did not want to 
travel at night, for he had come upon this journey to 
see the country, which he could not do at night. 

" Finally the hills and valleys ceased and the for- 
est disappeared and he came to great plains that 
stretched out as far as eye could reach. He did not 
like this country as well as the wooded country, for 
it was hard to find a tree in which to roost at night, 
but there was lots of grain, and the plains were very 
fertile. By-and-by he came to a great river where 
he stopped for a bath, for the water had been so 
muddy for several days that he could not bathe. 
Then he flew on greatly refreshed. 

"Then there were more plains that lasted for 
weeks and weeks, and finally they grew sandy and 
barren with nothing but sage brush and prickly 
plants. Finally, one morning when he had gotten 



64 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

very tired of the plains, he saw a mountain like those 
mountains he had known at home, only it was very 
much higher and was covered with snow. 

" Up, up, he mounted nearly to the sun, before he 
crossed it. But there on the mountain top were 
pines and spruces again, and he felt more at home. 
Then he travelled for days over the mountains and 
finally dropped down into the land of sunshine that 
ends by the great water which there is no crossing, 
so the bird folks told him who live in the land of 
sunshine. 

" Here it was that my great-great-grandfather 
made the acquaintance of that remarkable bird, the 
Road Runner, of which I am going to tell you." 

The Little Foresters all looked at each other with 
great astonishment, but as they had promised not to 
interrupt Nimrod, they said nothing. 

"Well," continued Nimrod, "the Road Runner is 
one of the most remarkable birds in the world. I 
think I may say that he ranks next to the crow, and 
my ancestor found out many strange things from 
him, among others how to kill snakes." 

At this statement by Nimrod there was such a 
chirping and twittering in the old trysting tree that 
the crow was obliged to cease his story for several 
minutes, but when quiet had at last been restored, 
he continued. 

" The one great enemy of the Road Runner is the 
rattlesnake, who is always creeping about in the 



THE END OF BLACK LIGHTNING 65 

grass searching for the Road Runner's nest that he 
may devour the eggs or young birds ; or if he can 
find a young Road Runner in the grass where he is 
just learning to fly, he will at once fall upon him and 
mangle him, and finally swallow him without the 
slightest regret." 

" The hateful thing," cried all the Little Foresters 
in chorus. 

"He is just like Black Lightning," said Cock- 
robin* 

cc Well/' continued Nimrod, " the Road Runner 
does not take his injuries quietly as we do, but he 
at once sets to work to avenge himself. 

" He searches about in the grass and along the 
sunny banks by the creek until he finds the snake 
and then he follows him, never losing sight of him 
by day or night, until at last the snake lies down in 
a sunny spot to sleep, for all snakes are great sleep- 
ers. They all sleep through the winter and many 
of them sleep half the summer time as well. 

" When the Road Runner sees the rattlesnake fall 
asleep, he knows that his hour has come. Then he 
and Mrs. Road Runner set to work to gather the 
spines from the prickly pear-tree, which are very 
sharp. They have to use great care in gathering 
them or they will wound themselves, but they do 
not mind an occasional scratch when they think of 
their young dead birds, and the revenge that they 
are going to heap upon the snake. 



66 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

" When they have gathered a good pile of the 
spines, they go up to the sleeping snake very care- 
fully and build a fence about him, using the spines 
for building material. So while the snake sleeps, 
he is all the time being surrounded by this terrible 
wall. 

" Finally their work is done, and Mr. and Mrs. 
Road Runner wait for the awakening of the snake 

" When the snake does awake, he stretches him- 
self and looks about him. To his great astonishment 
he finds a wall some three or four inches high en- 
compassing him on very side, and a little distance 
away he sees the Road Runners watching him. He 
is very angry. It is their doing ; he will teach them 
better manners, and he coils himself for a spring, 
hissing and sounding his rattlers in an ominous way. 

" But the Road Runners do not fear him. This 
makes him more angry still, and he lashes with his 
tail, which strikes something sharp, and the snake 
turns and strikes viciously at the pile. To his great 
astonishment the innocent looking sticks bite back. 
He strikes again, and a dozen sharp spines fasten in 
his head. Then great anger possesses him and he 
strikes again and again, while the Road Runners 
draw back to a safe distance. Around and around 
the rattler goes, striking and squirming, until at last 
he is filled with spines and bleeding from a score of 
places. Then in blind fury he bites himself and 
dies, the victim of his own poison." 



THE END OF BLACK LIGHTNING 67 

" Good ! Good ! " cried all the birds and squirrels 
in chorus. 

" It serves him right," said Bob from his seat at 
the foot of the tree. " If any one carries a deadly- 
poison about as the rattlesnake does he is quite sure 
to fall a victim to it himself sooner or later." 

"Now," continued Nimrod, "if you will all stop 
talking, I will tell you the details of my plan. 

" I want you all to do just as I tell you, and to re- 
member that our success depends upon your carry- 
ing out my orders perfectly. 

" Firstly, we have no prickly pear-tree, and we will 
have to use something else. Secondly, the bite of 
the black snake is not poisonous and he cannot finish 
himself, so we will have to poison our brambles to 
make our plan a certain success. 

" I want you all to set to work gathering brambles. 
Find the sharpest and the longest ones that you can. 
Go to the blackberry, the raspberry, the thorn-apple, 
and the nettle ; and some of you, like friend Thresher, 
whom the law protects, can get those sharp thorns 
from the hedge up at the farmhouse. When you 
have gathered your thorns, then find the most deadly 
poisons that you know. I do not need to tell you 
what they are. You all know the nightshade and 
the poison hemlock, the ivy and the dogwood. Break 
the bark or the pulp of the plant or shrub with great 
care lest you get poisoned yourself, and then wet the 
points of your brambles or spines with this poison. 



68 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

When you have once poisoned them, you must use 
the greatest care not to scratch yourself. 

" When everything is ready we will watch for this 
destroyer of our homes and our happiness, and serve 
him in such manner as he deserves." And without 
further words Nimrod dismissed the company and 
they all went away, bent upon one errand — the de- 
struction of Black Lightning. 

For several days there was great activity in the 
woods ; gathering spines and searching for poisonous 
plants occupied all of the time that was not spent in 
looking for food and attending to the young, who 
need a great deal of attention at this time of year. 

After about a week, Nimrod announced at the 
trysting tree that everything was in readiness, and 
told all to be on the watch for Black Lightning. 

For several days no one could discover him asleep, 
for he was very crafty and had kept the place of his 
napping a secret. But one sunny afternoon early in 
July, he decided to take his nap out in the open upon 
a sandbank that pleased him, where he could bask in 
the warm sun and enjoy himself. If anything dis- 
turbed him he had a hole near by where he could 
go. But what could harm him ? Was he not mas- 
ter of the forest ? Were they not all afraid of him, 
and did they not all flee when he approached ? 

It was with these feelings that the old black snake 
stretched out on the sandbank and went to sleep. 

An hour later Cock-robin, who was always on the 



THE END OF BLACK LIGHTNING 69 

watch and had a grudge of his own to pay off, dis- 
covered the snake asleep and hastened to tell Nim- 
rod, who at once summoned the rest of the company 
by a signal that had been agreed upon. Soon they 
were all at work carrying the brambles and spines 
that had been made so deadly with poisonous sap. 
They worked with a will, and in two hours there 
was a pile of bristling points about the ugly black 
snake, and no opening on any side through which 
to escape. 

When their work had been completed, they sat 
about upon trees, and those of the company who 
could not fly sat- at a safe distance on the ground, 
for they knew that when the snake awoke he would 
be very angry, and secretly they were all afraid of 
Black Lightning. 

At last their patience was rewarded, for the snake 
began to move and then to stretch, as snakes are 
apt to do after a nap, and then he awoke. When 
he looked about at the bristling pile that surrounded 
him, he thought he was dreaming, but when he 
looked up in the trees and saw the birds and squir- 
rels looking down at him, he knew that it was no 
dream. But the full peril of his situation did not at 
once appear to him. 

" Who has done this ? " he hissed, raising his head 
angrily and glaring about him. 

" We all had a hand in it," replied Nimrod from 
his perch a few feet above the snake, " but I think I 



70 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

may say the plan was mine and the rest of the com- 
pany helped me to carry it out." 

" You will all pay for it," hissed the snake, snap- 
ping his jaws together in a manner that made the 
smaller birds and squirrels quake. " I will kill an 
extra bird and an extra squirrel every day this sum- 
mer to pay for this. I will teach you who is the 
stronger when I get out of this tangle." 

"When you get out of that tangle," repeated 
Nimrod mockingly, " we will all invite you to break- 
fast." 

At these words the snake lowered his head, and a 
feeling of uneasiness came over him, for he well 
knew the cunning of the crow, and feared him and 
the confident way in which he spoke. 

" Why have you done this ? " he asked at length, 
feeling that perhaps the best course was to parley. 

"Why have you hunted us by day and night, 
robbing our nests and eating our young?" asked 
Nimrod. 

" Partly for breakfast and partly for sport," said 
the snake. 

" We are not as cruel as you," replied Nimrod ; 
" we have not entrapped you for sport, but because 
we had to. You have come into our forest like a 
thief, creeping upon your belly like a sneak, robbing 
and killing merely for sport, and now that we may 
live and enjoy the forest which is ours by right, we 
have destroyed you." 



THE END OF BLACK LIGHTNING 71 

" Destroyed me," hissed the snake, snapping his 
jaws furiously ; " we will see about that," and he 
began striking at the pile of brambles about him. 
But at the first blow his head was filled with bram- 
bles and spines. 

Nimrod cawed derisively, and the birds chirped 
and twittered, but some of the more timid flew away 
in fright. 

Black Lightning's eyes flashed fire, and his tongue 
darted out like a flame. He writhed with agony, 
and for once lost his self-control and again attacked 
his barriers. 

Faster and faster he struck, hissing and snapping 
his jaws and all the time lashing with his tail. The 
brambles flew in every direction, but he was fast fill- 
ing with the deadly points. Over and over he went, 
moving so fast that the Little Foresters could scarcely 
see him. Finally his wriggling and thrashing ceased, 
and then they saw him filled with the deadly points 
and swollen to twice his usual size. 

At last, after terrible convulsions, he stretched 
himself out upon the sandbank and died, an object 
too hideous to look upon. 

Then the birds and the squirrels went quietly 
away, feeling well satisfied with the success of Nim- 
rod's plan and their own hard work. But they had 
no feeling of revenge in the death of the snake, for 
they had destroyed him, as Nimrod had said, merely 
that they might live themselves. 



72 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 



A Terrible Ride 

The hawk and the weasel are rival marauders, 
each carrying on his work of theft and murder in his 
own peculiar manner, and each doing terrible execu- 
tion in field and forest. 

Of the two, I have the most respect for the hawk. 
He is more open and above board in his thieving 
and murdering, and rarely kills when he is not hun- 
gry, but of all the four-footed creatures that inhabit 
New England, the weasel is the most despicable. 

He will destroy a whole coop of chickens, by bit- 
ing a small hole in the neck of each and sucking 
their blood, when he might make his entire meal on 
one chicken. He kills two squirrels for every one 
that he eats, and all his other operations are carried 
on with the same cruelty and disregard for the lives 
of his fellow-foresters. He is a destroyer, cruel and 
cunning and more to be feared by the Little Forest- 
ers than any other creature. 

Even his looks are enough to make one shudder. 
His long, slim body with its gliding movement, his 
restless head turned this way and that, his hungry 
eyes, all suggest cunning, cruelty, and daring. 

Sparrowhawk is quite as cruel, but he lacks the 
cunning of the weasel ; he always carries on his work 
of destruction openly and with a fearlessness that is 
at least not cowardly. 



A TERRIBLE RIDE 73 

Ever since the day when Redtail had mistaken 
Sneak, the weasel, for a chipmunk, and had nearly- 
caught him in the open, there had been war between 
them, although they dwelt so far apart there was lit- 
tle chance of their meeting. Sneak would not be 
caught in the open again, and Redtail lived so high 
up in the air that he was quite out of the domain of 
the weasel, but each kept the grudge in his heart and 
bided his time. 

It was a hot afternoon in August. The locust was 
singing shrilly in the weeds by the roadside. From 
up in the pasture came the musical tinkle of a cow- 
bell. A light breeze occasionally rustled the leaves, 
making a pleasant sound. But when this muffled 
murmur died away, it was as still as night time. 

It was too hot for the birds to sing or the squirrels 
to chatter. In fact, the birds were away in the deep 
woods moulting and chirping softly to themselves. 
Suddenly there was a rustle, and a few frightened 
"chirps" from Chatterbox, the chipmunk, a patter 
of small feet in the ferns, and a moment later he was 
seen running for a big maple at the top of his speed. 
A few feet behind him, gliding along with that easy 
motion, his cruel, hungry eyes fixed intently upon 
the little squirrel, was Sneak, the free-booter and 
destroyer. 

Chatterbox scurried up the tree, with the weasel 
in hot pursuit. Up, up, they went, the squirrel run- 
ning for his life, and the weasel pursuing. I saw 



74 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

that it was hopeless for the squirrel, he would soon 
be at the top of the tree and at the mercy of the 
weasel, but I did not know all of the squirrel's 
prowess. 

Presently he stood upon the topmost branch of the 
tree, with the weasel but a few feet away. " Poor 
little fellow," I thought, and my hatred for Sneak 
doubled. But even as I looked, the chipmunk sprang 
from the limb, although it was fifty or sixty feet high, 
spread himself out flat like a turnover, and floated 
gracefully down through the air, landing at my feet. 

" Bravo," I cried. " Well done, little chap." He 
did not wait to hear my compliments, but was off 
running for all he was worth. He evidently had not 
seen me before and had been greatly frightened by 
landing so near what he supposed another enemy. 

My astonishment had scarcely left me, when I was 
treated to another surprise, for Redtail, the old hen- 
hawk, sailed majestically into the very tree that Chat- 
terbox had just left and perched upon the limb that 
the squirrel had occupied. 

He did not see me under the tree, and I stood very 
still, wishing to observe him. 

He was a magnificent bird, measuring, as I after- 
wards discovered, over five feet from tip to tip. His 
plumage shone like burnished silver in the sunlight, 
and his tail was a rich deep red. I had forgotten all 
about Sneak when a white spot upon a limb, not over 
a yard from the hawk, reminded me of him. It was 



A TERRIBLE RIDE 75 

Sneak, without a doubt, for I could see the eager 
restless motion of the head, and his slim figure. 

Then to my great astonishment the slender form 
shot like a white streak through the air, and landed 
upon the back of the hawk, and the weasel's head 
was buried in the feathers of the great bird just where 
the neck joins the body. Then the meaning of it all 
flashed upon me. " Greek had met Greek" and the 
old score would be settled. 

With a wild scream the hawk rose swiftly in the 
air. Higher and higher it went, but I could see by 
the quick hard strokes of its wings the agony of the 
flight. 

Presently the hawk set its wings for a plunge 
downward, and made a swoop, the swiftness of which 
no other bird can equal. Almost down to the tree 
he came, but as he turned in the air to ascend again 
I could see the weasel still clinging to his neck. 

Up, up, he went again, growing smaller and 
smaller, until he looked like a mere speck in the 
sky. I feared that I should lose sight of him and 
not see the end of this terrible struggle. But soon 
he began to descend again, and this time more 
rapidly than before, but he did not have his usual 
control of himself, his flight was ragged and uncer- 
tain. Once he lost the set of his wings, and went 
over and over in the air, but with a great effort he 
balanced himself and came down like a falling star. 

When about fifty feet from the ground he turned 



76 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

over on his back and beat furiously with his wings, 
writhing and shaking himself. Then he flopped 
down upon the ground and went over and over. 
Here was Sneak's chance to escape from his perilous 
position and I thought he would take it, But not 
so ; it was to be a fight to the finish, and he still 
clung to the neck of the hawk with a grip like death. 

With a despairing scream the hawk rose again, 
going almost straight up. It was to be his last 
flight, and he had determined not to perish alone. 
If death was to come it should come to both. 

When about forty rods up his great w T ings col- 
lapsed and without a struggle he fell to earth like a 
stone. 

I went to the spot where they had fallen, and 
there upon the ground was the magnificent hawk 
with his wings spread, and a stream of blood flow- 
ing from a hole in his neck that his enemy had 
made, and close beside him was the battered body 
of the weasel. 

They had fought the fight to a finish, but it had 
been a drawn battle, for both were dead. 



The Good Green Wood 

Whenever I pass along the city street and see 
its pale children trying to play ball or marbles in 
some vacant lot where there is hardly room to turn 
about, I always fall to pitying them, and to wishing 



THE GOOD GREEN WOOD 77 

that every child that comes into the world could 
spend its first twelve years in the country. Then no 
matter what he may do or where he may go in after 
years, he has these country memories to fall back on 
when the heart grows sick for the sweet green things 
and the sound of running water. 

It matters not if I am on the noisy streets of a 
great city, and the air is stifling with heat, for I 
have but to fall a-dreaming to be a boy once more 
upon the old farm. Then the rude rumble of the 
heavy teams is changed to the murmur of summer 
breezes in leafy treetops, and the shrill cries of news- 
boys become bird notes, exquisitely tender and joy- 
ful. I could shut my eyes in the most barren desert 
and smell the sweet scent of half-dead leaves drip- 
ping from an autumn rain ; or it might be the 
aromatic scent of the pine and the balsam, if fancy 
willed it. 

If I had my way, I should not only have all chil- 
dren born in the country, but would have them 
educated in its ways, and particularly in woodcraft. 
I would show them where to look for the arbutus 
and the anemone, and teach them to tell each wild 
flower or shrub from its neighbor, by both smell and 
sight. 

I would show them where the wintergreen and 
the partridge-berry grow, and we would sit together 
upon some mossy knoll under a fragrant spruce and 
eat youngsters. 



78 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

Then as we sat there, munching and enjoying the 
freshness and beauty of all things about us, we would 
learn to distinguish the different bird notes. 

We would learn to tell the sweet " cheerily, 
cheerily " of the bluebird, and not to mistake it 
for the "cheery, cheery" of the robin, which is louder 
and more abrupt. 

The chickadee we would always know by his one 
sweet little song that never varies, and the phcebe, 
too, we could not mistake, for his song is ever the 
same — just two plaintive notes. 

The woodpecker's short, sharp "snip, snip," or his 
queer cackle we would never forget when once we 
had found him out ; then by degrees we would learn 
to tell all these little creatures by their song or their 
note of alarm, which are quite different. 

Two other birds there are that we never could 
mistake — the whip-poor-will's wild, unearthly note, 
and the sad call of the cuckoo, denoting rain. He 
is a much better prophet than men think him, for 
his note of warning is always followed by storm. 
The quail is a merry fellow, whistling upon the bar- 
post, but he, too, is given to watching the wind and 
the weather. 

Squirrels all sound very much alike, but you can 
always tell by the chattering and scolding that it is 
a squirrel ; and then later on you will learn to tell 
the sharp bark of the red squirrel from the chirp of 
the chipmunk, who is not so noisy. 



THE GOOD GREEN WOOD 79 

Besides knowing the birds by their song or plu- 
mage we would know their nesting places and their 
mode of life, not to rob or torment them, but that 
we might become acquainted with these little feath- 
ered friends and love them. Besides the ways of 
the birds, we would come to know all the little crea- 
tures of the wood, and their haunts and manners and 
customs. 

From knowing the inhabitants of the woods it 
would be an easy and natural step to know the 
plants and flowers, and all the friendly trees that 
give us shade, fruit, and nuts, or if need be lay down 
their lives to keep us warm in the winter time. 

I would also teach my young people to know the 
points of the compass from the trees, who tell all ob- 
serving folks which is north, so they never need get 
lost in the woods. Here are some of the plainest 
ways to tell the points of compass in the forest : All 
plant life, including the giant trees, love the sun and 
lean toward him for comfort and warmth. He is 
their father and friend. So if you will observe care- 
fully what a woodsman calls the lean of the timber, 
you will see that the majority of the trees in any 
woods lean to the south. Then if you will go 
around to the north side of the tree, you will find 
it covered with moss, while there is none on the 
south side. What is the reason for this ? you may 
ask. Moss grows in the shade or where the sun 
strikes least, and that would be on the north side 



80 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

of the trees. There is one more easy way of telling 
the points of compass, and many smaller signs which 
it is harder to read. 

A very old man once told me that the topmost 
point of the hemlock, as a rule, points to the north- 
west. 

Besides knowing the forest in a general way, we 
should know it in detail, and where its treasures are, 
— where the first youngsters are found, and where 
the sweet arbutus first thrusts its fragrant flowers 
through last year's mold ; where the delicious straw- 
berry grows along the sunny slopes of the pasture 
land and the first blueberries ripen. Then in mid- 
summer we would take our pails and go among the 
pines at the edge of the woods for blackberries, ob- 
serving at the same time where the chestnuts hang 
the thickest and the walnuts promise well. 

In yonder thicket is a hemlock whose springy 
boughs will make the finest kind of bows, and this 
ironwood, if cut and peeled and allowed to season, 
will make a fish-pole that would do the heart of a 
boy good. 

In short, the marvels and the pleasures of the 
woods are so many that I can only mention a few of 
the most common. How well the poet Whittier 
knew these charms of nature, and how truly he has 
depicted the boy's delight in them in his " Barefoot 
Boy," to whose world of wonder and mystery I refer 
you. 



A NIGHT WITH RUFF GROUSE 81 

" O for boyhood's time of June, 
Crowding years in one brief moon, 
When all things I heard or saw, 
Me, their master, waited for. 
I was rich in flowers and trees, 
Humming-birds and honey bees ; 
For my sport the squirrel played, 
Plied the snouted mole his spade ; 
For my taste the blackberry cone 
Purpled over hedge and stone ; 
Laughed the brook for my delight 
Through the day and through the night, 
Whispering at the garden wall, 
Talked with me from fall to fall ; 
Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond, 
Mine the walnut slopes beyond, 
Mine on bending orchard trees, 
Apples of Hesperides. 
Still as my horizon grew, 
Larger grew my riches too ; 
All the world I saw or knew 
Seemed a complex Chinese toy 
Fashioned for a barefoot boy." 



A Night With Ruff Grouse 

It was Christmas eve and the great red sun was 
fast sinking behind the western hills, leaving a trail 
of fire as red as the pathway of a comet. 

Out of the east the shadow folk were trooping, 
driving the children of the sun before them over hill 
and valley and far away. It was pleasant, though, 
to think, as one saw the sunlight and gladness re- 



82 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

treating, that away on the other side of the world the 
children of the sun were driving the shadow people 
who were fleeing in terror before their bright faces. 

It was bitter cold and the wind howled dismally in 
the treetops, making the great branches to groan 
and writhe, as though they were possessed of feeling 
and it hurt them to be so violently handled. 

It seemed to Ruff Grouse, as he swayed to and 
fro in the treetop where he was getting his supper, 
that the night had never looked so cheerless and un- 
inviting. The wind rocked him so violently that he 
could hardly keep his perch, and occasionally when 
it got more boisterous than usual, showers of snow 
rattled down upon him. But Ruff was a hardy 
fellow and it was not these things that bothered 
him ; he was having considerable difficulty in find- 
ing his supper. Mast had not been so scarce in the 
whole course of his existence, and the buds had been 
kept back by the extreme cold so that there was 
very little nourishment in them, and beside all this 
the birch in which he was hard at work had been 
cropped by Ruff and his friends and by two or three 
red squirrels, until there was very little supper to be 
had, bad as it was. 

The cold numbed his toes so that he could hardly 
hold on, and presently the wind grew so violent that 
Ruff gave up the task and flew into the top of a 
hemlock to shelter himself and get warm, and in the 
meantime to think of some new place to find supper 



A NIGHT WITH RUFF GROUSE 83 

The lengthening shadows told him that he must be 
quick about it or else trust to the moon, which was 
not always a safe thing to do, as the moon was 
fickle, and budding by moonlight exposed one to 
the peril of being picked up by an owl, and Danger, 
the great white owl who terrorized all the Little 
Foresters, had long had his eye on Ruff, following 
him persistently. 

But cold and hunger bred recklessness in Ruff that 
night, so at last he started off on a hazardous enter- 
prise, which was no more or less than to get his 
supper off a fine greening tree almost under the 
farmer's nose and within easy reach of the thunder- 
stick. So he went sailing away over the treetops, 
flying as only a partridge can fly to the orchard. 
The pale white stars were just pricking through the 
steely blue sky and the night would soon be on. 

Presently he plumped down in the greening tree 
and fell to work on the delicious buds, stopping fre- 
quently, though, to listen and to watch every chang- 
ing light and shadow about the house. The tree 
was so near the buildings that it had not been 
touched by any of Ruff's friends, even the saucy red 
squirrel had shunned it, and the buds were very 
plenty. How sweet they were after the dry birch 
buds, and how lucky he had been to think of it 
Ruff's crop, that had been so empty, was filling fast, 
but it was dangerous work, and more than once he 
stopped and was about to take wing, but lingered a 



84 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

minute longer to get just a few more buds. So 
intent he was on supper that he did not hear the 
shed window lifted carefully or see the thunderstick 
thrust out. But a sense of impending danger made 
him look up and he saw at once his peril. With a 
quick spring like the flight of an arrow he was off, 
flying low in hopes to put some friendly bush or 
fence between him and the marksman. But what 
bird, however strong of wing, can fly like the hail- 
stones from the thunderstick that are propelled by 
lightning ? 

There was a bright flash, a deafening roar, and a 
rush of the sharp pellets about Ruff. The force of 
the charge carried him several feet out of his course, 
and at first he thought he must fall, but with a great 
effort he nerved himself, stifled the pain ; and flew on, 
for this was the only safe thing to do. When the 
smoke cleared away, the farmer saw a few feathers 
flying in the breeze, while the old partridge was sail- 
ing for the woods forty rods away. 

" I snum," he growled, giving the old gun a shake, 
" ef I hain't missed him again. I believe this rusty 
ole gun wouldn't kill a partridge ef his head wuz 
stuck in the end on 't, the blamed old thing," and he 
shut the window with a bang. 

But he would have thought better of the gun had 
he seen the partridge plump down into a snowbank 
as soon as he reached the woods, and wriggle out of 
sight in the snow, leaving a trail of blood behind him. 




UMTO vMMW 



THE PARTRIDGE BROKE AWAY AND WHIRRED OVER THE TREE-TOPS. 



A NIGHT WITH RUFF GROUSE 85 

Poor Ruff snuggled as far down into the snow as 
possible and then lay still, trying hard to forget the 
ache in his leg and the sharp pain in his wing. It 
was humiliating to have several of one's tail-feathers 
shot away, and the beauty of that splendid fan upon 
which he so prided himself for the time being spoiled, 
but that was nothing to the possibility of a broken 
leg or wing. The tail-feathers would grow again, 
and at the best they were merely ornamental, but a 
leg or a wing was quite another matter, and a par- 
tridge that could not fly might as well give up to 
the first fox that happened along. 

At the thought of a fox, Ruff remembered the 
blood spots that he had left upon the snow, and he 
knew that it was very dangerous for him to be lying 
where he was, with so plain a scent to tell of his 
whereabouts, so with a great effort he wriggled out 
of the snow and flew up into a treetop. His wing 
was not broken, though it hurt him terribly to fly. 

But it was so cold in the treetop that he was 
numbed in a few minutes, and the wind cut him like 
a knife. 

He never could spend the night in the tree ; he 
would have to find a new spot in which to burrow, 
and be careful not to leave a scent upon the snow. 
So he picked out a spot where it was drifted and the 
snow looked soft, and plunged down in it with all 
his might. The force of his flight carried him in out 
of sight, and the wind filled up the hole and smoothed 



86 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

it over, and no one would have guessed that a live 
partridge lay buried in the drift. 

It was quite warm down there, and Ruff would 
have been comfortable had it not been for his wounded 
leg and wing ; but the cold snow felt soothing to 
them, drawing out the fever and quieting the pain, 
so that he soon fell asleep and dreamed of spring 
and of drumming on the old log to call some lady 
partridge about and begin the spring courting. 

How long he slept Ruff did not know, but sud- 
denly he awoke with the same sensation of danger 
that he had felt just before the farmer shot him. He 
lay very still and listened, for nothing is ever gained 
by hasty action in a time of danger. He could hear 
a sound above him like something digging and then 
an occasional sniff. 

Ruff's feathers stood up with fright and his eyes 
grew big with terror : it was Sir Reynard, and he 
was after him. 

The crafty old fox was hungry to-night. He had 
searched the laurel swamp for a rabbit, but having 
found none was on his way home to the spruces, 
when he scented the blood spots from Ruff's first 
plunge in the snow, and then by circling round and 
round, he found his second plunge and was now dig- 
ging stealthily for him. 

There was one hope of escape. Ruff had taken 
the precaution to burrow several feet in the snow 
toward a shallow place ; he now hoped to reach this 



A NIGHT WITH RUFF GROUSE 87 

place in the drift before the fox reached him. He 
began quietly burrowing away from the sound of the 
fox's digging. He could not dig very fast lest the 
fox might hear him, and all the time Sir Reynard 
was getting nearer and nearer to him. It was a fear- 
ful moment for Ruff, but his quick wit and strong 
nerve did not forsake him. At last he could feel the 
snow giving above him, but the fox was almost upon 
him ; he could hear his eager sniffing and frantic 
digging. With a quick motion he brushed the snow 
away and with a whir of his wings rose in air, but 
he was not quicker than the lithe fox that sprang at 
him as he rose. There was a snap of the hungry 
jaws and Sir Reynard's teeth closed upon Ruffs 
toes, but not strongly enough to hold him, and the 
partridge broke away and whirred over the treetops 
into the darkness. 

" I'll have you yet," snarled the fox, and the wind 
repeated his threat, " I'll have you yet ; I'll have you 
yet," until it seemed to the partridge that the night 
was rilled with terror. He flew for several minutes 
and then alighted in the top of a spruce to consider 
where to spend the night. 

He had barely settled in the treetop when he no- 
ticed a great white object in the branches above him, 
and a moment later he became aware of two big, 
yellow eyes looking hungrily down upon him. It 
was Danger, the white owl, the terror of the forest 
at night. It was lucky for Ruff that the top of the 



88 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

spruce was very thick and that there were several 
brushy limbs between him and the owl. 

"Who, who," cried Danger, startled by Ruff's 
precipitate flight into the spruce. It took him a 
moment to collect his wits, and then he dove for the 
partridge, but Ruff, realizing his danger, slipped out 
between the friendly branches of the spruce and was 
off, with the owl in hot pursuit. Ordinarily Danger 
would have been no match for him in flight, but to- 
night, with his crippled wing, it was a race for life 
and death, Danger having the advantage, as he 
could see better than Ruff by night. He flew with a 
steady flop, flop, the sound of which made Ruff anx- 
ious, to say the least. But the partridge with all his 
native cunning made sudden turns to the right and 
left, and each time the owl would fly by the turning 
point, losing a few feet in the race. 

At last by turning, twisting, and dodging, Ruff 
drew away from his pursuer till he could no longer 
hear the monotonous flop, flop of his wings. Then 
he plunged into the top of another spruce to listen, 
and he heard the owl go by a few rods away, the 
sound of his wings dying away in the distance. For 
several minutes Ruff waited in anxious suspense for 
the return of the owl ; but hearing nothing, he con- 
cluded that he had eluded his pursuer, which was 
the case. 

He was tired and cold. The wind rocked the tree 
so violently that he could not sleep, even had his 



A NIGHT WITH RUFF GROUSE 89 

wounds permitted. He wondered whether it was 
better to stay in the treetop all night and freeze to 
death, or to risk another dive in the snow with a 
chance of being picked up by a fox. Surely the 
same one that had disturbed him before would not 
do it again that night, for his flight from the owl had 
carried him several miles from home. 

After debating the question pro and con, Ruff de- 
cided that he would rather be eaten up at once than 
to freeze by degrees, so he plunged down into the 
snow, and again the friendly winds blew the hole 
full and screened him from all prying eyes. 

Once safely tucked in his snow bed, where the cold 
drew the pain from his wound and the warm blanket 
shielded him from the wind and cold, he fell asleep 
and slept soundly until morning. 

When he awoke and wriggled painfully out of 
the snow, the sun was shining brightly, and there 
was no evidence of the terrible experiences of the 
night before. Near at hand was a birch, upon the 
buds of which Ruff got a hasty breakfast. He then 
took his bearings by the sun and the looks of the 
forest, for he was several miles from home, and as 
he had come in the night, did not at once know 
what direction to take ; but presently he rose above 
the treetops, and sailed away. To you and me there 
would have been very little to go by, but not so with 
RufT. He had been born in the forest, and had al- 
ways lived there. He knew all of its winding ave- 



9 o WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

nues and devious turnings. Straight away he flew 
to the east, and after half an hour's flight arrived at 
the old birch where he had tried to get his supper 
the night before. 

Presently Bob, the old cottontail who lived in the 
laurel swamp near by, came hopping along under 
the spruces. 

" Hello, Ruff," he cried, as soon as he caught 
sight of the partridge. " I say, old fellow, what is 
the matter with your tail ? It looks as though some 
one had mistaken you for a goose and had tried to 
pick you. But," on seeing the partridge's woe-be- 
gone look, he said, " say, old chap, you haven't been 
shot at, have you ? " 

Then Ruff flew down upon the snow 7 beside Bob, 
and told him all of his experiences of the night be- 
fore, to the great astonishment of the rabbit. 

" What ever possessed you to venture so near to 
the house?" asked Bob, in genuine surprise. "We 
consider you the most cautious of us all." 

" I was hungry," said Ruff, " and one will do al- 
most anything if he is hungry." 

" Sir Reynard is a bad one," said Bob, when Ruff 
came to that portion of his story ; "you and I both 
owe him a grudge, and we'll pay him off some day, 
you see if we don't ; " and they did. 

When Ruff had finished his story, and both the 
rabbit and the partridge had heaped vials of wrath 
upon the fox and the owl, Bob hopped away to tell 



BOB'S REVENGE 91 

the news to Mrs. Rabbit, and RufT went into the 
deep woods to rest after the terrible exertions of the 
night before. 



Bob's Revenge 

Bob was the old cottontail who sat at the foot of 
the trysting tree during the morning and evening 
meetings. He was a prime favorite with the birds 
and squirrels, and was greatly respected by the other 
rabbits that lived in the community ; but most of 
them lived way back in a large swamp several miles 
from the beautiful grove that the Little Foresters 
inhabited. 

Bob's home was in the spruces down by the swale. 
It was not as swampy as he would have liked, but 
there was a little laurel, some birches, and a thick 
growth of spruces that made a fine cover for a rabbit 
to hide in. 

Bob was a very clever rabbit and his wisdom and 
foresight were often praised among the birds and 
squirrels. 

He knew every old log in the forest and all the 
best places to hole, but he rarely did that when pur- 
sued, for it was more dangerous than staying out- 
side. He preferred to stay above ground, dodging 
about in the spruces and hiding in brambles and 
tangles of laurel where he was comparatively safe 
from his enemies. 



92 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

He would often sit for an hour at a time upon the 
end of an old log, planning what he would do if 
certain dangers came upon him, and there was no 
part of the woods where he had not some hiding 
place or way of escape. As he sat upon the log 
with his ears cocked, and his bright, restless eyes 
looking in every direction, he made a very pretty 
picture. He always seemed to be either listening or 
looking for something, and with good reason, for it 
was only by keeping a strict lookout, and by having 
those tall ears always cocked, that Bob escaped his 
many enemies. Of all the small creatures of the 
woods the rabbit is the most beset with enemies, and 
his one refuge in peril is in his long, nimble legs. 

It may seem strange to my little reader that any- 
thing should want to harm so pretty a creature as a 
rabbit, but the wild animals prey upon one another, 
and man preys upon them all. 

There was Redtail, who was always on the look- 
out that he might spy Bob in the open, and swoop 
down upon him. Danger, the great white owl, had 
the same ambition as the hawk, but he did his thiev- 
ing and killing by night instead of by day. The 
farmhouse cat was always watching for him by the 
path, and Sir Reynard, the sly fox who lived in the 
ledges over in the pasture, had sworn that the young 
foxes should sup on rabbit some night, and Bob was 
the particular cottontail on whom he had his eye. 
Many a brisk race for life the fox had given the 



BOB'S REVENGE 93 

rabbit through the spruces, but thus far Bob had al- 
ways eluded his enemy. 

Even at night when the rabbit went to sleep in a 
hollow log or in one of the holes that he inhabited, 
he was not at all sure but that when he awoke he 
might find a weasel hanging upon his neck, sucking 
his life blood ; or men might come with a hound and 
a ferret that would rush into the hole and scare him 
forth where he would be caught in a bag. So was 
it any wonder that Bob's ears and nose twitched 
nervously and that his eyes seemed to be looking in 
all directions at once ? 

Sir Reynard and Bob had never been friends, and 
for two years past open war had existed between 
them, and this was the way it came about. 

Bob was getting his breakfast one morning upon the 
bark of a yellow birch when the fox happened along. 

" Good-morning, Friend Rabbit," said the fox in 
his most gracious manner; " may I come and help 
you gnaw that birch ? " 

" You may have it all," replied the rabbit, hopping 
to the other side of a clump of bushes and watching 
the old fox closely, for he well knew that foxes did 
not gnaw birches, and Sir Reynard had some other 
motive than to gnaw the birch. 

" Why do you always keep a bush between us ? " 
asked the fox, trying to smile and at the same time 
not to have his teeth show ; but Bob could see them 
plainly. 



94 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

" Because your beauty dazzles me and I cannot 
bear to look upon it all at once," replied the rabbit. 

" Ah," said the fox, smiling in spite of himself, for 
he was quite vain, " let me come into this opening 
so that you can get a good look at me." Then he 
stepped a little to one side that he might clear a low 
bush, and bounded toward the cottontail ; but Bob 
had been watching him and was off before the fox 
had made his second spring. He was no match for 
Sir Reynard, running in the open, but here he could 
dodge and turn, winding out and in among the 
spruces where it was hard to go ; besides, his hole 
was not far away, and all the time he was drawing 
nearer to it. Presently he shot down into his bur- 
row, and Sir Reynard was left standing at the 
mouth, panting and licking his chops at the thought 
of what a good breakfast the rabbit would have 
made. 

" That was a fine run we had," said Bob, looking 
up at the fox and smiling; "it will start the blood 
and help your appetite." At this taunt and the 
tnought of his empty stomach, the fox snapped his 
teeth together like a steel trap and snarled, "You 
had better not anger me too much, for we shall have 
a settling one of these days. I shall not always let 
you off so easy." 

" Little you had to do about it," retorted the rab- 
bit ; " I let myself off." 

" Oh, I could have caught you if I had wanted to," 



BOB'S REVENGE 95 

replied the fox, " but I saw that you were poor and 
thought I'd wait until you got fat," 

" You had better not wait in these parts," said the 
rabbit ; " I heard the farmer complaining the other 
day that you had been catching his hens, and he said 
that your hide would be drying upon the barn within 
a week." 

" Did he ? " asked the fox, feigning indifference ; 
"he will have to catch me before he can skin me. I 
do not leave my hide upon a bush every morning to 
be had for the taking. 

"I, too, heard him complaining. He said the 
rabbits had been eating his parsnips, and he knew 
the thief, and that he would come soon with the hound 
and ferret to rid the woods of him." 

" I wish you would take yourself away from my 
hole," said the rabbit ; " your beauty dazzles me and 
hurts my eyes. I have no further use for you." 

" Nor I for you," replied the fox. " Good-morn- 
ing," and he was gone. A few moments later, Bob 
heard him bark a short distance away. It was very 
strange, for a fox rarely barks in the daytime. But 
after a moment's thought it was plain to the rabbit. 
Sir Reynard had wished him to think he had gone, 
and so had barked. He was, doubtless, at that very 
moment crouching behind the stump at the mouth 
of the hole, waiting for him to appear. 

Bob stayed in his hole all day and well on into the 
evening. Then he went to his front door to listen, 



96 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

and after sitting there for several minutes and not 
hearing anything, he ventured forth ; but he had not 
taken half a dozen hops when he heard a noise be- 
hind him. Looking about he saw the fox sitting in 
front of his hole, grinning and showing a fine set of 
teeth. 

" Good-evening, Friend Rabbit," said the fox in 
his most gracious manner ; " you see I think so much 
of you that I have been hanging around all day. I 
could not bear to leave you so long alone." 

The cottontail squatted low to the ground with his 
legs well under him, ready for a spring. 

" Didn't you get hungry ? " he asked carelessly, as 
though the fact that a fox was hungry was of small 
account to him, but he was quivering in every nerve. 
He had often thought of such a predicament as this 
and had laid his plans well, but now he was face to 
face with the peril he was not so sure of his speed 
and steadiness, for it was a very dangerous thing 
that he was about to do, and any deviation from the 
right path by even six inches would end disastrously. 
He had often practised the run. It was just fifteen 
jumps ahead, two sharp to the right and then one 
long jump through something, and that was where 
the danger lay. Bob did not wait for the fox to 
make the first move, for his nerve was getting un- 
steady, but with a sudden movement quick as a flash 
he bounded away with the fox after him only two 
jumps behind and gaining a little at each jump. By 



BOB'S REVENGE 97 

the time they reached the little spruce, half of the 
distance between them had been gained by the fox. 
He was sure of his supper this time. Then the rab- 
bit gave two quick jumps to the right. Here there 
were alder bushes and it was a little dark, but Sir 
Reynard's jaws were almost upon him. Then Bob 
cleared a low alder bush with the fox barely six feet 
behind him, but midway in the bush the fox stopped 
and was hurled back as though by an unseen hand. 

There was a half-stifled howl of pain from Sir 
Reynard as he lay quivering upon the grass with the 
blood streaming down his face from an ugly gash in 
the forehead. It was several moments before he 
knew quite what had happened, but when he finally 
aroused himself the rabbit was gone, and peering 
cautiously into the bush from which he had just been 
so violently flung, he discovered a barbed wire fence. 

Then he knew how completely he had been 
trapped by the cottontail, and from that hour he 
laid plans for Bob's destruction, and never by night 
or day did he lose sight of his purpose. 

If it had not been for the birds and the squirrels, 
all of whom loved Bob and hated Sir Reynard, it is 
very probable that the rabbit would have fallen prey 
to some one of the many devices that the crafty old 
fox employed to catch him. But these little friends 
were always on the lookout for Bob, and if they spied 
the fox lying in wait for him they always warned 
him. 



98 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

Every morning Cock-robin would fly over to Bob's 
hole. He would always go early, before breakfast, 
that he might warn the rabbit if Sir Reynard was 
waiting for him behind the stump. 

Bob would come cautiously up to the mouth of his 
hole, Cock-robin would be sitting upon the top of a 
birch a few rods away, and if he said, " Cheery, 
cheery," Bob would know that the coast was clear 
and come hopping out. But if Cock-robin gave his 
note of alarm, " Quit, quit, quit," Bob would know 
that the fox was waiting for him, and go back for 
another nap. Sir Reynard would glare up savagely 
at the robin when he heard him give the warning 
note, but the bird was well out of his way and did 
not fear him ; although he did fear that the fox 
might find a young robin by the path some day and 
eat it up for revenge. But this he would do any- 
way, so it did not matter. 

Thus the days went on, with Sir Reynard plan- 
ning trick after trick, and Bob dodging and avoiding 
his traps as best he might. But this being always 
hunted and feeling that he must not be off his guard 
for even a moment, began to tell on the cottontail. 
He got nervous, grew poor, and was very wild, so 
that sometimes even his friends could not get near 
him to speak a word of encouragement. But with 
each day's failure, Sir Reynard's wrath grew and he 
redoubled his efforts. His temper was not improved 
by having Mrs. Fox laugh and poke fun at him, 



BOB'S REVENGE 99 

saying that his cunning had forsaken him when a 
cottontail could outwit him. 

At last growing desperate with being hunted so 
long, Bob decided to take matters into his own 
hands and try a little stratagem himself. This con- 
clusion was greatly strengthened by his finding some- 
thing in the path one day that he thought might aid 
him in carrying out his plan It was not skilfully 
placed, but Bob at once told his friends, that they 
might be on their guard. At the same time he took 
Cock-robin and several other birds into his confi- 
dence and they covered this something that Bob 
had found with leaves, making it look as though the 
leaves had fallen from a bare limb just above the 
path. 

Bob then adopted a new mode of life. He got up 
very early every morning, while the stars were still 
shining, and went forth into the woods. He would 
then make a circuit of the spruces, taking care to 
leave a good trail in the dew, and finally come 
around to the place where he had buried something 
in the leaves, when he would run, and with a great 
spring, jump over the spot where the leaves had 
fallen so thickly on the ground. Then he would 
make a circuit of the maple grove, coming back and 
jumping over exactly the same spot again, after 
which he would take a short turn down the road 
and another into the pasture ; but this was Sir Rey- 
nard's domain, so he went very cautiously, pausing 



ioo WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

every few moments to listen, take bearings, and see 
where he could fly to if pursued. Here he always 
kept in the shadow of a bush and near cover. Some 
of the birds and squirrels who saw him on these 
morning runs warned him against leaving so many 
fresh tracks in the morning dew. Bob only chuckled 
at their warnings and went on his way, hopping 
carefully along, always keeping his wits about him. 

Sir Reynard at once noticed the fresh tracks in 
the wet grass, and smiled a broad smile, for he 
thought that his enemy was getting careless and felt 
sure that his patience would soon be rewarded by 
a rabbit breakfast. 

Finding the fresh rabbit tracks for several days in 
succession, Sir Reynard decided to be up the next 
morning betimes, and lay in wait for the unwary 
cottontail. 

So the next morning he arose before daybreak. 
" Where are you going so early?" asked Mrs. Fox. 

" I am going to have one more try at that old 
bobtdil, and unless I am mistaken you and the chil- 
dren will dine on rabbit to-day ; " so he set off through 
the woods with a light heart and with great assurance. 

When he came to the edge of the maple grove he 
sniffed the air cautiously. There was the scent of 
rabbit not far away. Presently he struck the track. 
It was very fresh, — his enemy was not a dozen rods 
away ; so Sir Reynard followed the trail boldly and 
swiftly, feeling that his hour of triumph was near at 



BOB'S REVENGE 101 

hand. A few rods further on he caught sight of the 
cottontail hopping leisurely along, and he quickened 
his pace, but was careful to go very quietly. So 
keeping close to the ground and stepping as light 
as a cat, he crept swiftly on. Then he heard a little 
note of alarm from a brown bird in the thicket, but 
he did not mind it. Brownie had seen him and 
called down to Bob of his coming, but the rabbit 
did not hurry, for he was near to the spot where he 
always made the big jump. He was playing a game 
of life and death and understood the risk that he ran. 

Presently he heard a twig snap in the thicket not 
more than three rods away. Then he knew that he 
must be moving, so he hopped quickly to the spot 
where the dead leaves lay thickly upon the ground, 
gave his long spring, hopped into some small spruces 
and squatted. 

Sir Reynard caught sight of him through the 
thicket as he made the big jump. " Ah, ha, my fine 
fellow," he thought, " you are playing leap frog, 
and little you know of my whereabouts, but I will 
teach you." He hoped to catch the rabbit at his 
play and take him before he knew what had hap- 
pened. There was no need of caution, now was the 
time to act boldly, so he moved swiftly into the 
open, going with head up, following by body scent 
and not sniffing the track. Had he been less reck- 
less and kept his nose to the trail he might have 
scented danger. Along the path he came to the 



102 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

place where the ground was strewn with leaves, but 
he scented something in the thicket just beyond, his 
nostrils dilated, and his yellow eyes gleamed with a 
terrible fire. 

Suddenly he sprang into the air with a half-stifled 
yelp of pain. There was a rustle in the leaves, the 
rattle of a chain, and Sir Reynard was snapping and 
biting furiously at a trap which was firmly fastened 
upon his forepaw, just above the joint. 

At first he thought to soon wrench himself free, 
but the jaws of the trap set tighter and tighter as he 
struggled. Then the horror of the situation came 
upon him and he lay down in the leaves trembling 
and whining. Then a rustle in the thicket caught 
his attention and he looked up to see old Bob squat- 
ting under the spruces looking at him. 

" Ah, this is your doing, villain," he snarled, shak- 
ing his aching paw and glaring at the rabbit with a 
wild fury in his cruel, yellow eyes. " Let me but 
get this hateful trap off my paw and I will strew 
your white fur all over the woods." 

" When you get that trap off your paw," repeated 
Bob with great coolness, " I will not mind your do- 
ing it. But I do not expect you will get off, 

" You and I have long had an account to settle, 
and now we will settle it. I did not bear you any 
ill will at first, and would not have harmed you in 
this way had you not hunted me night and day, and 
made my life a burden. What I have done, I have 



THE LAST MEETING 103 

done in self-defence, so your blood is upon your 
own head." 

" You have ruined me," snarled Sir Reynard, 
snapping at the trap and glaring at Bob. "Mrs. 
Fox and the children will avenge my death." 

" On the contrary they will know nothing about 
it," said Bob ; "they will simply discover your hide 
upon the shed up at the farmhouse, and conclude 
you were killed with the thunderstick, as will be the 
case, for even now I hear the farmer coming." 

Sir Reynard saw that Bob had spoken truly, for 
while he was still speaking Grip's sharp bark rang out, 
and they could hear the farmer calling him to heel. 

" Good-by," said the rabbit ; " it is nothing that I 
could help. I simply had to save myself," and he 
hopped away through the thicket. 

A few moments later the terrible roar of the 
thunderstick rang out on the morning air, and Bob 
knew that his enemy was dead, and that now he 
could again enjoy the sweet fields and the green 
woods as he had done in the good old days before 
Sir Reynard came his way. 



The Last Meeting 

SUMMER had come and gone, and with it the 
flowers and fruit that are a part of that delightful 
season. The delicious autumn, too, was nearly spent, 
and a feeling of wistfulness was on all the Little For- 



104 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

esters, a longing for the joy that had gone, and a wish 
that they might in some way turn back the " wheel 
of time " and live those delightful days over again. 

Birds that had been fledgelings in May and June 
were now as large as their parents, flying about with 
all the importance of grown-ups. Squirrels that had 
been bits of fuzz when the summer came, now frisked 
in the branches of the trees and scolded and chattered 
away in a manner that made the woods ring, and 
their parents very proud of them. 

October had come and gone, the nuts had fallen, 
and the winter's store had been laid up. It was 
nearing the time of separation, when the birds, the 
squirrels, and the rabbits would hold the last meeting 
of the season at the old trysting tree where farewells 
were said, for some would fly away to their winter 
homes, while others would go into the deep woods 
or den up for the winter. 

They had become such good friends during the 
summer days that it was always hard to part in the 
autumn ; besides, no one could tell what might 
happen before they met again. 

The night of the fifteenth of November was very 
cold, and when the Little Foresters awoke upon the 
sixteenth, they discovered that there had been a light 
flurry of snow during the night, and that settled it as 
far as most of them were concerned. When the sun 
rose over the eastern hills Nimrod came flying to the 
trysting tree, sounding the call for the last meeting. 



THE LAST MEETING 105 

At the sound of NimrocTs familiar call the Little 
Foresters came flying, running, and jumping to the 
trysting tree, for all knew that it was to be the last 
meeting, and none wished to be late. 

But all did not respond to the call, for some had 
already said " Farewell " and started South. Even 
a month ago blithe Bobolink had said " Good-by," 
and had flown away to the rice fields of the Carolinas. 
It was sad to have him go, and all the other birds 
missed the wonderful song that he always poured 
out so unstintingly. What a gay fellow he was, so 
good-natured and ready to look upon the bright side 
of life, and always- singing. 

Scarlet Tanager and Oriole, two more sweet 
singers, had also said good-by to stern New Eng- 
land and flown away to Maryland or Virginia, I 
know not which, for sometimes they wintered in one 
place and sometimes in the other, and this particular 
year they did not tell where they were going. 

But Cock-robin was still here, and when the sun 
was warm he poured out such a flood of melody 
that one would have thought that summer was just 
coming in instead of going out. This morning he 
brought quite a flock of his fellow robins, who had 
come in the night before from the North, and who 
were all going southward as fast as their wings could 
carry them. 

" Friends," said Nimrod, when all had assembled, 
and beaks and noses had been counted, " we are 



106 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

assembled for the last time this year, and as chair- 
man of this company, and one in whom I think I 
may say you all have confidence," here Nimrod 
stopped to admire the glitter of his wing in the 
sunlight, and all the birds and squirrels cried, " Yes, 
yes ; go on, Nimrod," 

" As chairman of this company," repeated the old 
crow, " I shall in a few brief words sum up the sum- 
mer's work, count over those things for which we 
ought to be truly grateful, and say a word of farewell 
to you all. But before I say these. words I am going 
to tell you of a discovery I made the other day. It 
is something that concerns us all." 

" Nimrod is always making discoveries," said 
Cock-robin. " What is it, Nimrod ? " 

" Well," continued the crow, " you know we have 
not seen Danger, the big white owl, for several days. 
We used to see him often enough, and always when 
we did not want to, but of late I think no one has 
seen him. Well, night before last I was awakened 
from a sound sleep by hearing him hoot. There is 
no mistaking his hoot, for no other owl makes such 
hideous noises. 

" I kept very still and listened, and could not 
locate the sound for a long time, but finally I de- 
cided it came from up toward the farmhouse. I 
thought it very strange, but went to sleep and 
dreamed upon it. 

" The next morning I saw all of the people at the 




HE CLUTCHED THE BARS FIERCELY WITH HIS CLAWS. 



THE LAST MEETING 107 

farmhouse go off down the road, and when they 
were out of sight I flew up and looked about. For 
a long time I could discover nothing out of the ordi- 
nary, but presently I saw a cage swinging in the big 
elm, and inside, winking and blinking with his two 
yellow eyes, was Danger, the great white owl, the 
terror of the woods. I was so astonished that I 
nearly fell off the limb of the tree upon which I was 
sitting, but, of course, Danger did not see me, as it 
was broad daylight. 

" After watching him for a while I gave a derisive 
caw. ' Who, who,' asked Danger, looking up, but he 
could not see me, for the sun was very bright. ' Who, 
who,' he repeated, winking harder than ever, and try- 
ing to get a glimpse of me with his big yellow eyes. 

" ' It is your friend Nimrod,' I said, going close to 
the cage. ' What a fine house you have here ; when 
did you move in ? ' 

" ' Friend Nimrod/ he screeched, coming up to 
the bars and clutching them fiercely with his claws. 
1 You are no friend of mine. I would like to wring 
your silly neck, but it would not be worth my while ; 
you are a noisy fool, but not worth killing.' Then 
he went to sleep on his perch and I could not get 
another word out of him, so finally flew away and 
left him in his gilded cage. It is a good place for 
him, and I trust that he has done the last of his 
thieving in these woods. He is too handsome for 
them to ever let him go, and when they tire of his 



108 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

silly hooting and blinking they will stuff him, and he 
will look as wise as ever and be quite as useful." 

" Good, good," cried all the Little Foresters. 
" We shall not have to fear him any more." 

" No, he will not trouble us any more," said Nim- 
rod ; " and I think, my friends, that on the whole 
we have a great deal to be thankful for and a very 
pleasant year to look forward to. 

" You will remember how Redtail and Sneak, our 
two worst enemies, perished together in that last 
desperate struggle. Our friend Bob, who sits at the 
foot of this tree, disposed of Sir Reynard for us in a 
very clever manner. I myself planned the destruc- 
tion of Black Lightning, although you all helped me 
bravely. Now that many of our enemies are dead, 
the forest that is our home will be freer, greener, and 
pleasanter than ever. 

" Now as the sun is getting high and I know that 
many of you are anxious to be off, let me wish you 
all a pleasant winter, and a safe return to the green 
hills and the peaceful valleys that we love so well, 
and this is my advice to you : Remember your wits, 
never leave them behind, for you may need them 
when you least expect, for shot fly faster than birds, 
and man is very cunning. Good-by, my friends, 
good-by." 

" Hi-ho for the Cumberland mountains," cried 
Cock-robin, leading his friends in a swift flight 
across the meadows. 



THE LAST MEETING 109 

"Jersey is the place for me," cried the brown 
thresher, following Cock-robin's lead. 

" I'll build me a nest in a cave by the sea on the 
coast of Virginia," twittered the barnswallow, and 
he skimmed away over the fields, flying just above 
the stubble. 

"Wheh, wheh," piped the jay, "what is their 
hurry ? I shall stay on until the corn is in, and then 
I guess Long Island is good enough for me. If you 
don't get too far South you don't have so far to fly 
back." 

" Good-by," sang the bluebird, in his pleasant 
"cheery, cheery." "I know a river called the 
Shenandoah where the fields are ever green and 
the sun is always shining. I'll away to the valley 
of the Shenandoah." 

" Well, Chip," said Nimrod to the little squirrel as 
he frisked down the old oak, " I don't see but you 
and I and a few friends will have the forest all to 
ourselves this winter." 

"Oh, no," cried several voices. "I shall always 
be here," said Ruff Grouse from a thicket near by. 
M And I," tapped the woodpecker from a dead limbo 
" I may stay myself for a time," piped the jay. 

" Chick-er-dee, dee, dee," came from the thicket ; 
" Chick-er-dee-dee-dee, I shall be here, and so will 
Snowbird and Grosbeak and you, yourself, Nimrod ; 
you will not desert us." 

" No," said the old crow, " I shall not desert you. 



no WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

I'll stay in the deep woods and you will occasionally 
see me when the weather is fine, but it made me feel 
lonesome for a moment, having them all fly away ; 
but I see that we shall still be a goodly company to 
hold the woods for them until they all come back." 

With these words he flew away to the corn-field 
where there were still some kernels to be found upon 
the ground for his breakfast. The old trysting tree 
was vacant, no sound was heard in its branches, save 
the sighing and moaning of the cold November wind 
and the rustle of withered leaves. 

Gone were the birds and the squirrels, gone were 
the leaves and the acorns, and the only thing to do 
was to wait patiently for that first sweet whisper of 
springtime. 



A Teacher of Woodcraft 

No day that I have spent roaming the woods with 
old Ben Wilson will ever be quite forgotten. Al- 
though, as he flourished nearly twenty years ago, 
some of those memories are rather dim. He was 
never known as Mr. Benjamin Wilson, for his full 
name did not fit him, so he was simply Old Ben to 
all the boys whom he fancied, for ten miles around. 

He was not an important personage, either, so 
you may wonder just what his hold upon your affec- 
tions was. If I remember rightly, he was not in 
favor with the elders in the prim little New England 



A TEACHER OF WOODCRAFT in 

town where we lived, for many of them called him 
" a lazy good-for-nothing," but never anything worse 
than that. 

His great sin seemed to be that he loved nature 
and the wonders of the fields and woods, more than 
most of his prosaic neighbors, and so took more 
time to admire them. 

It was a very common sight to see Old Ben walk- 
ing home with one arm full of hickory saplings and 
the other filled with springy hemlock boughs. The 
hickories he would carefully peel, some rainy day, 
and then he would hang them up in the barn, with a 
weight on the end of each. There in the course of 
time they became the choicest kind of trout poles. 
It was considered as much of an honor, by us boys, 
to be the possessor of one of Old Ben's hickory rods, 
as it was in after years to own one of Spalding's best 
fly rods. The hemlock boughs were made into bows, 
strips of woodchuck hide being used for the strings. 
One of these bows made a boy of ten as near the 
counterpart of an Apache Indian as he was likely to 
ever get. 

Then there was always an assortment of popguns 
made from the hollow elder, for boys who were too 
small to use the bows ; so was it any wonder that 
we all loved Old Ben ? 

He did not like to take small boys with him into 
the woods. " They air alius hollerin' and skeerin' 
things," he would say. " A boy has gut ter be old 



ii2 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

enough ter hold his tongue before he can go with 
me." I was about ten years old when, one May af- 
ternoon, I made my first pilgrimage with Old Ben to 
the shrine of nature, and I saw more in that brief 
afternoon than I had ever seen before in my life. 

" Eyes ain't good for nothin' in the woods, with- 
out you know how to use urn," my guide would say. 
" Most folks go thunderin' through the woods, like 
it was Washington street, an' don't see nothin', while 
the rabbit sits under a bush a laughin' behind his 
paw, an' winkin' at the squirrel above him in the 
tree. There ain't one person in ten that can see 
anything in the woods, while really one can see more 
there than anywhere else." 

On this particular afternoon we took the cow-path 
leading down through the lane to the pasture, after 
which we struck off into the deep woods. 

We had scarcely turned from the path into the 
alder bushes that skirted the woods when a small 
brown bird fluttered out of the grass at our feet, and 
flew into a bush near by, where she fluttered about, 
twittering in an excited manner. 

" Now, Harry," said Old Ben seriously, " what do 
you think of that?" 

" What ? " I asked, for I had seen nothing unusual. 

" Why is that 'ere brown bird floppin' up out of 
the grass in that way and then perchin' on that bush 
an' not flyin' off ? Put your wits to work, boy, an' 
tell me what you think on it." 



A TEACHER OF WOODCRAFT 113 

" I don't think anything of it," I said after a mo- 
ment's thought. "'Tain't anything but just a brown 
bird, and they are always flying around in the bushes." 

11 Eyes, yet they see not, ears, yet they hear not," 
repeated Old Ben mournfully. " But I don't blame 
you, boy ; it's our first trip together, an' I'll teach 
you to see things, in time. 

" Wal, that there brown bird came out from under 
that bit of a bush by the path an' ten ter one there 
is where her nest is." 

"Why, what makes you think so?" I asked in 
astonishment. 

" Wal," replied Old Ben, thoughtfully, " she warn't 
there for nuthin', birds and squirrels don't do things 
for nuthin'. She wouldn't be feedin' there this time 
o' day, for 'tain't neither breakfast time nor supper 
time, besides, don't you see she don't want to go 
away ? She's waitin' to see what you an' I are goin' 
to do about her nest. Uv course I may be mistaken, 
for a feller ain't never quite sure in the woods, but 
let's see." 

We knelt down by the bush and poked away the 
grass, and there, sure enough, was the nest with five 
speckled eggs in it. It was a very cosy house, lined 
with hair and sheltered from the wind and rain by 
the bush. 

" Ain't it a pretty home for Mr. and Mrs. Brownie ? " 
asked Old Ben, poking the grass back as it had been 
before. 



ii 4 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

" Let me take one of the eggs home to keep," 
I said, reaching for it. But to my astonishment my 
companion caught me by the wrist. " No, you 
don't," he said decidedly. " This ain't no nest rob- 
bin' expedition, not ef I know it. If you hev come 
with me ter rob birds' nests, I am goin' home. Ef 
you take that egg home it means one less bird to 
sing to us and hop about an' look pretty. Think uv 
that." 

I had never thought of it before in just that light, 
and the more I considered, the more I became sure 
that I had no right to take this little unhatched bird's 
life in that way. 

" Come on," said my companion, " we hev dis- 
turbed Mrs. Brownie long enough ; she is gettin' 
nervous, let's be movin'." So we parted the alder 
bushes and walked on, leaving the little house undis- 
turbed and the heart of the brown bird glad that we 
had not taken any of her eggs. 

Old Ben glided along as easily in the cover as I 
could go in the open, and he rarely made any noise. 
" Light-foot," we boys called him, but with me the 
case was quite different. Every dry twig that I 
stepped on snapped like a parlor match, and I was 
always stepping on one end of a long stick and hav- 
ing the other end fly up with a big noise. 

" Harry," said my companion severely, after one 
of these missteps, "you make as much racket in the 
woods as a rhinoceros would in a tin shop. Enny- 



A TEACHER OF WOODCRAFT 115 

body'd think your feet were pile drivers ; why don't 
you let them down easy, like the earth was eggs, an' 
you wuz afraid uv breakin' on urn." 

Presently a brown streak shot across the path and 
was lost to sight in the weeds and underbrush. 

" What's that ? " I asked excitedly. 

11 Rabbit," replied my guide in an undertone. 
" Alius when you see a brown streak an' can't quite 
make it out, it's a rabbit, that is, ef it is on the 
ground ; but in winter it would be a white streak." 

" What, the same rabbit?" I asked. 

"Yes," said Old Ben seriously. " He has got two 
coats. A brown one that he wears in the summer 
and a white one in winter." 

" Where did he go to?" I asked, 

" Are you a bat, that you can't see in the day- 
time ? " Ben asked, looking scornfully down at me. 
" He is in just as plain sight at this very minute as 
I be. Use your eyes, boy." 

I looked along the path where I had last seen the 
cottontail, while Ben grinned broadly. 

" I can't see him," I said at last in a whisper. " I 
don't believe he is in sight." 

" See that old log about twenty feet ahead ? Wal, 
just let your eye run along it to where it runs into 
the bush." I did as I was told, and there, squatting 
under the bush, in plain sight, but as still as though 
he had been made of brown marble instead of quiver- 
ing nerves and muscles, was the cottontail. His 



n6 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

color blended perfectly with that of some last year's 
dead leaves, and the gray brown of the rotten log. 
He kept so still that I almost thought he had turned 
to stone, but if you looked carefully, you could see 
his nose and ears twitch slightly. 

" What makes him keep so still ? " I asked. 

11 That is the way he hides," said Ben. " He 
knows better than we do that he is just the color of 
the ground, and if he does not catch your eye by 
some movement that ten to one you will not see 
him at all. There he goes." 

I looked, but was too late, for he had already dis- 
appeared. 

" Did you ever hear how 'twas the rabbit lost his 
tail?" said my companion as we proceeded on our 
walk. 

" No," I replied. " How was it ? " 

" Wal," said Ben in his queer drawl, " it was this 
'ere way. 

" Once, many years ago, a rabbit and a turtle lived 
in the same swamp. The rabbit was terrible proud 
an' put on airs. He had a fine long tail in them 
days, an' he carried it over his back like a squirrel. 
It used to make the turtle awful jealous to see him 
an' so he thought he'd fix him. One mornin' when 
he met the rabbit he says, ' Hallo ! I wonder if you 
want to run a race with me to-day ? ' At this the 
rabbit snickered and leaped over a bush, just to 
show what he could do. 



A TEACHER OF WOODCRAFT 117 

" ' I run a race with you ? ' he said, scornfully, 
' why, if I didn't have but one leg I could beat you, 
you old snail.' 

" ' I dare you to try it,' said the turtle hotly. 

" ' Name the distance, the starting place, and the 
forfeit,' returned the rabbit, proudly, ' and we will 
see about your fine boasting.' 

" ' Well,' said the turtle, ' we will run through the 
pasture to the mowing, through the farmer's turnip 
patch, twice and back again.' 

" ' Agreed,' said the rabbit. 

" 4 And this will be the forfeit,' said the turtle. 
* If you win, you may bite my tail off, and if I win I 
shall bite your tail off.' 

"The rabbit laughed loudly at this. 'Why, 
friend Turtle,' he cried, ' you can't steer yourself in 
the water without a tail. How queer you will look,' 
and without more ado, he was off, running like the 
wind. 

" The turtle waddled after him, smiling broadly, 
for he well knew if he lost the race that he could 
draw his tail into his shell and the rabbit could not 
bite it off, although he tried a week. But this was 
not the whole of his plan. It took him a long time 
to go through the pasture to the mowing and when 
he got there he saw the rabbit busily eating turnips 
in the farmer's lot. This was what he had expected, 
so he went quietly on his way, taking care not to 
disturb the cottontail 



n8 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

" Well, Mr. Turtle just made his short legs wiggle, 
and before the rabbit knew it he had lost the race. 
He came flying back through the pasture as though 
the dogs were after him, but it warn't no use, for 
there was the turtle waitin' for him at the brook. 

" The rabbit teased terrible not to have his tail 
nipped off, but he had plagued the turtle so much 
in the past that it warn't no use, so the turtle nipped 
off his tail at one bite. And rabbits hain't ever had 
tails since." 

" Is that a real true story?" I asked when Old 
Ben had finished, for I had never heard anything of 
the kind, and was suspicious that Ben had made it 
up for the occasion. 

" Mebbe it is, an' mebbe it ain't," answered the 
old man. " There's lots uv lies that air true in this 
world, an' vicy verse. Mebbe it war an allergory, 
or mebbe, more properly speaking, it wuz a tail." 

While Ben had been telling me the story of how 
the rabbit lost his tail, we had been sitting on an 
old moss-covered log, just such as abound in the 
forest, he whittling and I chewing gum, that he had 
previously dug for me with the large pocketknife 
that he always carried. 

" Wal," he said, when the story was finished, 
" I've got this cane done an' I guess we had better 
be moving, for I have gut several things to show 
you." 

The cane which Ben had made for me was cut 



A TEACHER OF WOODCRAFT 119 

from a maple sapling. He had cut rings about it on 
the lower end and peeled off the bark between the 
cuts so it gave it a striped effect, while at the top he 
had made a whistle. 

"That cane ain't good for much ter walk with, 
but it looks sort uv pretty, an' you can blow the 
whistle when we git out of the woods. 

" Now, if I can, I am a goin' to show you one of the 
sights uv these here woods, an' that is a cock par- 
tridge, drummin\ But it is mighty hard to get near 
um, an' you are such a heavy stepper maybe we 
can't do it. I heared one a drummin' a long ways 
off when we wuz a sittin' on the log. I guess I 
know where his log is. Now you follow me. We 
can go along fast enough until we get within ten or 
fifteen rods uv the log, an' then we will have to be 
careful." 

We trudged along for several moments before we 
heard anything that sounded to me like a cock par- 
tridge drumming, but finally I heard it : slow at first 
but soon growing faster and faster, until it was one 
long roll like thunder. 

" I s'pose even you could hear that," whispered 
Old Ben when it had ceased. " Now we'll stop and 
stand perfectly still until he begins again, and then 
we will go as far as we can while he is drummin'. 
You see he is making so much noise then that he 
can't hear us ; but he will listen between times, so 
be careful." 



120 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

We waited some time for the old cock to drum 
and I was afraid he had stopped, when he began 
again. The moment he started to drum we began 
to creep up on him, and had made twenty or thirty 
feet by the time he had ceased. 

This we did several times, each time drawing 
nearer and nearer to the log, until the drumming 
sounded almost like thunder. Each time when the 
partridge stopped we would crouch behind a tree 
trunk, and wait patiently for him to begin again. 

As we got nearer to him, Old Ben kept motioning 
me to be quiet and not to step on dry twigs or roll- 
ing stones. 

" You see he is almost the same as on the ground, 
an' gets the sound easy," he whispered. 

By this time I was all excitement, and my heart 
was beating like a trip-hammer. 

When he began again, we hurried a few steps 
forward to the top of a little rise, and lay flat upon 
the ground, and hardly dared to draw breath until 
he began again. 

At the first beat of the partridge's wings Ben 
clutched me by the shoulder, and we both stood up 
and peered between two trees into a little ravine that 
the rising ground had hidden from us before. 

There upon an old log in a little opening was Mr. 
Partridge, looking as proud as though he owned the 
whole woods. He stood erect, like a soldier on 
dress parade and his ruffs were distended. Slowly 



A TEACHER OF WOODCRAFT 121 

his wings rose, until they were as high as his back, 
and then they descended like lightning, but faster 
and faster they fell until the eye could no longer see 
them and he looked like a great round bunch of 
feathers about the size of a half-bushel basket. 

As the martial roll of the cock neared the close we 
dropped to the ground and lay still, not daring to 
move or breathe. It was a long time before he 
drummed again, and I began to fear that he had 
got tired of it and gone off. But presently there 
came the first loud thump of his wings. 

We stood up again and had a splendid sight of 
this wary bird, sounding his drum call, — a sight 
which few people ever see. 

As he neared the finish we again dropped to the 
ground. 

" My," I exclaimed, drawing a deep breath and 
speaking aloud in the excitement of the moment, 
" ain't he a bouncer when he is drumming." The 
words had scarcely died upon my lips, when there 
was a roar of wings beyond the old log, and we 
caught a glimpse of the cock, speeding away like an 
express train. 

"There, you hev done it," said Ben in disgust. 
" You will hev ter learn not to go a shoutin' around 
when you are in the woods with me or I'll leave you 
to home," and the old man looked grimly down at me. 

"I didn't mean ter," I said, this time speaking in 
a whisper. 



122 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

Ben laughed. " It won't do no good ter be a 
whispering now, an' you might as well talk out loud. 
He's more'n a mile away by this time." 

" Won't he come back?" I asked, greatly disap- 
pointed with the news. 

" Come back? I guess not," said Ben scornfully. 
" He is the shyest bird there is, an' when he knows 
there are two great lubbers like us a snookin' round 
his log he won't come back until he knows the coast 
is clear. He won't drum any more here to-day, an' 
mebbe not to-morrow, for they are terrible suspi- 
cious." 

" What makes him ? " I asked. 

" Wal," said Ben, " lots of things, includin' you 
an' me. Besides men, there are hawks, owls, wea- 
sels, cats, foxes, wildcats ; them air a few of the 
things that make him wary. 

" Now I hev gut just one thing more to show you 
an' then we will go home. Mebbe I can't find what 
I want. I discovered um the other day, an' mebbe 
their ma has moved them." 

" Moved what ? " I asked. 

" Wait an' you will see," said Ben, and he led the 
way through the woods, going at his long lope that 
I could scarcely follow. 

" We hain't gut to be careful now, for we will hev 
ter skeer the ma away eflore we can see um. See 
that old black stump ahead?" asked Ben when we 
had gone some distance. 



A TEACHER OF WOODCRAFT 123 

"Yes," I replied 

" Wal," said my guide, " you keep your eyes on 
that an' let me know if you see anything." 

I stumbled along, not looking where I was step- 
ping, for my eyes were riveted on the stump. 

Presently a rabbit hopped out from under the 
stump and along the path a few steps, and then 
stood still, just as the other had done. But as we 
came nearer the rabbit sprang into the bushes and 
was gone. 

" That's their ma," said Ben ; " ef she hain't moved 
them they are under this stump." 

Ben put his arm in a hole near the ground, and 
after feeling about for a moment, brought out the 
cutest little white pink-nosed chap you ever saw. 
The only thing that would tell you it was a rabbit 
was its long ears. Its eyes were not open yet, and 
its little pink nose twitched as I held it, while it made 
a tiny noise, half way between a grunt and a squeak. 

" My, ain't he pretty," I said, devouring the baby 
rabbit with my eyes ; " let's take him home." 

" Not much," said Ben, giving me one of his se- 
vere looks. " How do you think you would like it 
when we get home to find that a big animal from 
one of the planets had been at the house and carried 
off the baby ? It's bad enough for us to be poking 
about scarin' um without stealing the babies into 
the bargain. The mother will probably move um, 
now they have been disturbed the second time. I 



124* WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

found um the other day and thought you would like 
to see um. But it won't do you any good to come 
here again, for the ma will move um to-night." 

We fished out two more baby rabbits, and after 
admiring them to our hearts' content, put them back 
and started for home. 

" I guess that is sights enough for one day," said 
Ben. " We hev been pretty fortunate. We might 
hev tried a whole season before we saw that partridge 
drum. I was more than forty years old before I ever 
saw one drumming. And that is only the second or 
third litter of rabbits that I have ever discovered, so 
you see you are lucky to-day." 

I thanked Old Ben the best I knew how to, but he 
only said, " Tut, tut, I don't want no thanks, but I 
wanted you to know that these things aren't hanghY 
on every bush in the woods. You hev to be patient 
and careful and love all the little animals and at last 
you may find out something of um and how they 
live. Some day we will go again an' mebbe see 
more strange things, who knows." 

By this time we had got out into the pasture 
again, and we soon turned into a cow-path that led 
to the bars. 

" Always makes me feel rested and good-natured 
to be out in the woods," continued Ben. " I think 
it is because we get nearer to God in the woods 
than anywhere else. God is strength and rest for 
us all." 



OLD RINGTAIL'S WATERLOO 125 



Old Ringtail's Waterloo 

When Old Ben first brought Ringtail to me, he 
was a fuzzy bit of a coon kitten about the size of a 
chipmunk, or perhaps a little larger. He was of a 
dirty gray color, rotund in shape, and as near as we 
could estimate, about three weeks old. He probably 
had his eyes open to the bright light and the strange 
world some three or four days when I got him. 

Ben said that coon kittens were slower in getting 
their eyes open than any other kind of kittens, as 
some of them were blind for nearly three weeks, while 
domestic kittens and puppies got their sight in about 
ten days. My new pet was not shapely, but resem- 
bled a ball of fuzz more than a would-be coon. 

He did not make any sound when he was small ex- 
cept to grunt contentedly when he was full, and to cry 
when hungry, very much as kittens or puppies would. 

We had a hard time teaching him to drink milk, 
and in fact he nearly starved before he learned. 

Several times we despaired of getting him to drink, 
and he might have gone the way of many a wild 
thing that man undertakes to domesticate, had we 
not hit upon the plan of giving him his milk from a 
small oil can, squirting it into his mouth. 

Ben took me to the woods one day, and showed 
me where he had found the burrow of the coons. It 
was under the roots of a big birch that overhung a 



126 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

brook. The bank had shelved off into the water, 
leaving a small cave under the roots of the tree, and 
here the coons had made themselves a fine burrow, 
lining it with dry grass and leaves. It was sheltered, 
warm and dry, and near to the water, of which a 
coon is fond. He is a clumsy sort of a fisherman 
also, and this is one reason why he likes to be near 
a brook. He is no match for the otter in this sport, 
and he does not live in the water as the otter does, 
but he likes to paddle in it and occasionally knock a 
sleepy sucker out of the water with his paw. This 
was to be seen from the fishbones that were scattered 
around the burrow. The burrow must have been 
an old one, for there were last year's corn-cobs and 
other evidences of long occupancy. But this snug 
home was now quite vacant, and had been for some 
time. " It was because I took one of the babies," 
explained Ben. " These wild critters will rarely stay 
in a burrow after it has been robbed, and birds do 
not like to build in a tree where they have had bad 
luck the year before. If they do they will change 
the position of the nest." 

When Ringtail got large enough to enjoy the out- 
side world, I made a wire-netting fence around the 
big maple in the yard, about twenty feet from the 
trunk, and let him play in the tree or run in his little 
yard, as best pleased him. 

He soon made a burrow of his own under the root 
of the tree, and was very much at home. 



OLD RINGTAIL'S WATERLOO 127 

Even while small he would climb to great heights 
in the tree, and I fully expected to see him come 
tumbling down and dash his brains out on a root, 
for the coon is a clumsy fellow compared with a 
squirrel, and, while a good climber, he is not built 
for that exclusively, as the squirrel is. But I do not 
know that my new pet would have been hurt had he 
fallen, for he was very fat, and his fur would have 
acted as a cushion. 

We did not call him Ringtail at first, as the rings 
about his tail and eyes were not plain enough then 
to suggest the name, but they came out early in the 
summer, and by the fall were very marked. 

This history may, like ancient Gaul, be divided 
into three parts, that of Little Ringtail, the baby 
coon, Young Ringtail, the mischief-maker, and old 
Ringtail, the renegade and thief. 

It was on sweet corn that Ringtail first made his 
start toward being the monster coon that he finally 
became. He would eat several ears in a day, gnaw- 
ing the kernels off, and sucking out all the sweetness 
in the cob. He did not like the corn as well boiled 
as raw, so we threw his into the yard, when it came 
from the garden, usually with the husk on, for it was 
fun to see him husk it. He would hold the ear 
down with his paw, and starting the husk at the 
top would strip it off with a sudden jerk of his 
head. 

Ringtail was also fond of fish. In fact fish was 



128 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

one of his passions, and we got a head for him as 
regularly as we bought fish. 

I do not know whether he could distinguish be- 
tween mackerel and shad heads, and trout, or whether 
he preferred trout as coming from his native brook, 
but I took it very hard of him, when one day he 
fished a fine string of brook trout out of a pail where 
I had left them in some water and carried them under 
the house. They were still on the string, and he 
held the end of the willow switch in his mouth, and 
of course the fish came along. No amount of coax- 
ing would prevail upon him to bring out the trout, 
but he did return the stringer after he had eaten 
them. Perhaps it was an invitation to go to the 
brook and get more for him. But this was when he 
got to be Ringtail the mischief-maker, and had the 
full run of the premises. 

He was on good terms with most of the domestic 
animals. A dog, a cat, some kittens, some chickens, 
and a coon frequently took their breakfast from the 
same dish, without quarreling more than one would 
expect. 

Ringtail always took pains to eat on the opposite 
side of the plate from the dog, and they occasionally 
exchanged snarls, and showed teeth, and once I 
rescued the coon, when he was still young, from a 
premature grave ; but these things always happen, 
and on the whole he took very good care of himself. 
He was very jealous, though, of an old woodchuck 



OLD RINGTAIL'S WATERLOO 129 

that we had partly tamed, who used to come to the 
door for a crust of bread. If the coon was about 
when Chucky appeared he usually sent him back 
into his hole at the top of his speed. The wood- 
chuck always gave a whistle of defiance as he dove 
into his burrow, and once underground he wheeled 
about and invited Mr. Coon to come and see what a 
good set of teeth he had, but the coon always re- 
fused the invitation. 

Early in August I cut a large hole in the wire 
netting that framed the coon's yard, and let him run 
where he pleased, at the same time leaving his yard 
and burrow to flee to in time of peril. 

From the very first day that I gave him the run 
of the premises began the history of Ringtail the 
mischief-maker. When we went into the garden that 
forenoon to pick corn, we found that some one had 
been there before us, and helped himself in a pecul- 
iar manner. There were several stalks partly down, 
as though they had been recently bent to the ground. 
The ears on these stalks were either partly or wholly 
eaten. Besides this, a few stalks had been lopped 
over just for fun. At first we did not think who the 
marauder was, but the second day we caught him in 
the act. He would rear on his hind legs, and, catch- 
ing a stalk under his forearm, press it to the ground, 
and hold it down while he ate the ear, much as a 
boy would hold down a bush while picking the fruit. 

After that nothing was quite safe from that prying, 



130 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

pointed nose and those inquisitive paws, and al- 
though he made all kinds of trouble, he was so 
ingenious, and so full of pranks and capers, that 
it afforded us considerable amusement, as well as 
annoyance. 

Besides picking corn when he pleased, he poked 
about the roots of the beets to see how they grew, 
occasionally gnawing into one to discover if it w r as 
ripe. Some of the squashes he nipped from their 
stems just for fun, and later on in the season he 
gnawed holes in the sides of many pumpkins, and 
scooped out the seeds with his paw and ate them, 
leaving the entire pumpkin to rot or dry up. Oc- 
casionally he robbed a hen's nest, breaking a hole in 
the end of each egg, and sucking it as neatly as a 
boy could have done. Once he investigated a bee- 
hive, and went away much wiser : he was not badly 
stung, for his thick fur made that impossible, but 
two or three bees got in their w r ork on his nose, and 
for a day or two it was a sorry sight. But he seemed 
to know what to do for it as well as I would, for he 
went at once to the side of the road and stuck his 
nose into the mud, repeating the operation until it 
was daubed with a fine mud poultice. When the 
poultice got dry and crumbled of! he renewed it, 
and soon had the fever reduced. 

Ringtail was a genuine sport, his two kinds of 
game being fish and small birds, which he would 
sometimes eat up, nest and all. 



OLD RINGTAIL'S WATERLOO 131 

It was about Thanksgiving time that he had his 
first taste of chicken. It was purely an accident, for 
we had feared letting him taste even chicken bones. 
But after the chickens were killed for the Thanks- 
giving pie, he found their heads near the chopping 
block, and ate them, and poked about in the chips 
for more heads. 

A few days after Ringtail brought a hen and laid 
her on the front doorstep. Her head was nipped off 
as clean as one would have done it with an axe. By 
his manner he seemed to say, " Here is another for 
the pot ; I have fixed her just as you did the others. ,, 

We did not want any more of Ring's help, and so 
put a collar on him and tied him up. It was a hard 
trial for him being halter-broken, and he nearly 
strangled during several fits of pulling, but finally 
learned that it was useless. 

About this time there came on a very cold snap 
and a hard snowstorm. The snow came in the night, 
and when we went to feed Ring the next morning 
he was gone, leaving an empty collar. 

We saw nothing of him for two months, and 
thought he had returned to his native woods, and 
found shelter in a hollow tree, when one warm day 
on going into the cellar, who should we see sitting 
on the potato bin but Ring, looking sleepy and 
stupid. We let him alone, and the next day he was 
gone, but investigation revealed him rolled up in a 
ball in a ditch leading from the cellar to the outside 



i 3 2 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

world. The cellar being on a side hill was drained 
by this ditch. Ring had slipped his collar and 
crawled into the outer end of the ditch the night of 
the cold spell and the snowstorm. In the morning 
he had probably found the entrance blocked by 
snow, and had concluded it was time to hibernate, 
and had gone to sleep. The warm winter thaw had 
awakened him and he had come into the cellar to 
investigate. When Ringtail appeared in the spring, 
about the middle of March, he was not the sleek, 
well-groomed coon that had curled up for his long 
nap in the autumn. He was lean and lank, and his 
coat was dull and rusty. 

He was a little shy at first, and it took him a day 
or two to get fully waked up, but after a little he 
remembered that we were his friends and showed us 
the same confidence he had the year before. 

There was no sweet corn or garden stuff for Ring- 
tail in the early spring, but he did very well on some 
sweet winter apples. He was also partial to turnips, 
and he remembered the fish-cart, and got his usual fish 
head. He also ate ground fish which we used for fer- 
tilizer, and its odor clung to him for days afterwards. 

But the summer season, with new sweet corn and 
sweet apples, was his time for growth, and during 
the second summer he nearly doubled in size. He 
had also gotten to be quite a scrapper, and it was a 
good dog that cared to take a bout with him. 

It was early in September of the second year that 



OLD RINGTAIL'S WATERLOO 133 

Ringtail made his first depredation on the henhouse, 
and it was his love for chicken, together with his 
extravagant wastefulness in killing, that finally led 
to his downfall. 

I am confident that he knew the chickens were 
not intended for him, and he had no right with them, 
for the night that he killed a rooster and two hens 
he took to the woods, and was never seen about the 
premises by day again. I occasionally saw him in 
the fields, but he took good care not to let me get 
in reach, and paid little heed to my calling. He 
seemed always to be watching me out of one eye, 
and his countenance plainly said, " I know it would 
not be well for me to have you catch me, so we will 
live apart hereafter." 

Two nights after his first thieving, he visited the 
henhouse again, this time killing four fowls, only 
one of which he carried away. 

I had raised a fancy strain of Wyandottes, intend- 
ing to show them at the fair, which was to be in a 
week or two. But this last stroke of Ringtail's 
spoiled my coop, as it left me only two or three 
ragged pullets and a rooster that was ofl color. If 
he had been content with killing ordinary hens, it 
would not have been so bad, but when he picked out 
thoroughbreds, it was too much to bear. 

That noon Ben happened along, and I told him 
my grief. 

"The ole rascal," he said, sympathetically. "I 



134 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

thought it would come to this all along ; you can't 
keep lambs and lions in the same cage, not without 
you keep puttin' in fresh lambs. I'll bring over a 
trap to-night and we'll catch him." 

Accordingly we set the trap, with all of Old Ben's 
trapper's ingenuity, but no coon could we catch. 
Nearly every morning we found evidences that the 
coon had been about ; sometimes he killed a chicken, 
more frequently he was satisfied with less flagrant 
mischief, but he never got into our trap. 

He was so used to the premises that anything out 
of the ordinary attracted his attention, and put him 
on his guard. It may be only my imagination, but 
it seemed to me that he purposely tormented us, and 
defied us to catch him. 

We put up with being robbed and tormented in 
this way for about a month, then Ben went to a 
neighboring village for a celebrated coon dog, and 
we planned a hunt that should either end the career 
of this marauder, or else scare him out of the country. 

The dog was a beautiful black and tan fox hound, 
who was equally good as a coon dog, which is not 
usually the case. I remember well fondling his ears 
and petting him before we started out. 

It was about the first of October. Corn was cut 
and in the shock. The apples were picked, and 
nearly all the fall work well along. 

We went at once to the corn-field, as the most likely 
place in which to get track of the coon. 



OLD RINGTAIL'S WATERLOO 135 

" If you want to know whether a coon has been in 
a corn-field or not," said Ben, "just go round it with 
the dog, keep him on a string while you do it, and 
then you will be sure of it." 

At the further side of the field the hound got ex- 
cited, and we let him go. 

He at once took the trail and went off into the 
pasture, barking at every jump. Ben and I followed 
as fast as we could. 

In less than three minutes the dog was barking up 
a tree in the pasture near by. We went to the spot 
and found him at the foot of the big maple. 

" Might as well have treed him up a meetin' house 
steeple," said Ben when he saw the tree. " We might 
climb the steeple or chop the church down, but this 
tree is out of the question. He has beat us to-night, 
and we might as well go home." 

The big ^maple, as it was called, was a landmark 
for half a mile around. It was five or six feet at the 
butt, and ran up sixty feet without a limb. 

After considering for a moment, I saw the wisdom 
of Ben's conclusions, and reluctantly turned my steps 
homeward. I had wanted to try a pair of climbers 
that Ben had gotten the year before from a lumber- 
man, but this tree was too much for a beginner. 

The next night we struck the trail as before, but 
after the dog had been running five minutes the 
p wary coon holed in a ledge where it was impossible 
to get him. 



136 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

" Done us again," said Ben, after making a thor- 
ough examination of the ledge ; " might as well try- 
to dig John Bull out of Giberalter." 

The third night Ringtail was treed again in the 
big maple. 

Ben said that we might possibly shoot him in the 
daytime if I would watch the tree for the rest of the 
night. So, lantern in hand, I took my position at 
the foot of the tree, and Ben went home, the dog 
soon following. 

I was very sleepy, but was determined to stick it 
out, and not fall asleep. For a while the hooting 
and screeching of a large owl kept me awake, but 
presently I began to doze. Then I thought I heard 
something scratching, as though descending the 
tree. 

I looked up and was horrified to see a monstrous 
black shape that I took to be a bear slowly descend- 
ing. My first thought was of flight, but when I tried 
to rise my knees knocked together so that I could 
not stand. So there I sat while the bear descended 
on the further side of the tree. Then I awoke just 
in time to see the black-ringed brush of a coon dis- 
appearing on the outer edge of the light that my 
lantern shed into the gloom. 

There was no use watching an empty tree, so I 
went home. Ben made all kind of fun of me the 
next day when he came to shoot the coon. 

" I guess that old Ringtail has about sized us up," 




I SAW THE BLACK-RINGED BRUSH OF A COON. 



OLD RINGTAIL'S WATERLOO 137 

he said. " I never see nothin' like him for a coon. 
Might as well try to catch a firefly; but we will get 
him yet. You know the old savin', the deer that 
goes too often to the lick finally meets the 
hunter." 

By the time that we had treed and holed the coon 
half a dozen times, and always in some inaccessible 
place, Ringtail got tired of our little game, and took 
matters into his own hands, in a way that startled 
even so experienced a woodsman as Ben. 

We had found the track in the corn-field as usual, 
and the dog had been running about five minutes, 
when we heard a terrific snarling down in the 
meadow. 

We made all haste to the spot, feeling sure that 
the coon had at last been brought , to bay. The 
hound had evidently been at the ditch on the edge 
of the swamp, so we went along beside it, poking 
away the swale with a stick. " Mighty curus where 
that dog has gone so sudden," said Ben. " I should 
think we'd hear something of him." There was 
about a foot of water in the ditch, and some of the 
way it was completely covered with grass. 

We had explored four or five rods, when we sud- 
denly came upon the hound lying in the bottom of 
the ditch, kicking and gasping in the last agonies of 
drowning. 

" Gosh all hemlock," ejaculated Ben, at the sight 
of the kicking dog, " ef that don't beat me ! I'll bet 



138 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

that coon has done for the dog." We pulled the 
sleek hound out of the water, and a moment later 
he died before our very eyes. 

There was a savage bite in the back of his neck, 
but it was not enough to cause death. 

Of course we were not certain how it happened, 
but Ben said that the coon was probably hard pressed 
and jumped into the ditch and the hound after him. 

The coon had then apparently caught the dog by 
the nape of the neck and thrust him under water. 
Or he might have fallen into the ditch with the coon 
on top of him. The only fact that we were sure of 
was the dead dog before us. 

We made a sorry spectacle as we carried the 
hound home between us on a pole, which we stuck 
through his collar. 

This ended our coon hunting for about a week, but 
Ben finally got Danny, a big coon dog owned by a 
neighbor, and we began again. 

" Mebbe old Ringtail will eat up Danny," said Ben 
the first night that we started out with the new dog, 
" but he will hev a big mouthful if he does." 

I do not know whether the coon thought he had 
gone too far and that we would make it hot for him, 
but for several nights he lay low, and we could not 
start him at all. 

Night after night we tried, but could not get track 
of him. Danny soon got disgusted with the whole 
performance, and finally concluded that we were 



OLD RINGTAIL'S WATERLOO 139 

merely taking some evening walks, and did not 
scour the country as thoroughly as he should have 
done. 

To break the monotony of coon hunting without 
getting any coons, we built a camp-fire each night 
and roasted some sweet corn that had been sown 
for fodder and was just getting ripe. This and 
some fall apples made a very pleasant camp-fire 
supper. 

One night when we had been hunting with Danny 
for about a week, we struck into the sugar orchard, 
where there was a fine growth of old maples and no 
underbrush. 

We had gone but a few rods when we were start- 
led by a furious onset from Danny, and answer- 
ing snarls that were so fast and furious that my hair 
fairly stood on end with fright. 

Ben hurried forward, and, fearing to be left in the 
dark, I followed. 

Not five rods away we came upon the scene of the 
battle, and it made a spectral picture in the tall aisles 
of the maple forest. 

There at the foot of a great tree, with his back 
against the trunk, standing well forward on his toes, 
the fur raised, his teeth bared and gleaming white 
by the lantern light, was Ringtail, the renegade, 
taken unawares and at last brought to bay. 

Over against him, but three or four feet away, was 
Danny, with hackles up and fangs bared. Every 



140 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

now and then he advanced on the coon and although 
he was twice the size of his wild antagonist, he dared 
not walk into that grinning muzzle. 

I thought that Ringtail cast a reproachful look at 
me as he sat there on his guard, fighting his last 
fight, but it was probably only my conscience. But 
I could see the dog collar around his neck that I had 
placed there, and I could not help thinking how 
pretty he had been as a kitten, and a dozen of his 
comical pranks flashed through my mind in those 
brief seconds. 

" Shake him up, Danny," cried Ben, swinging the 
club in his hand to attract the coon's attention, and 
Danny advanced a step nearer and the big coon 
slunk back closer to the tree. 

Then suddenly the coon's head shot out and his 
teeth clicked like a steel trap. Danny drew back 
and licked his chops, from which the blood was 
trickling. 

" Go it, Ringtail ! " I shouted, forgetting for the 
moment which side I was on. " You can lick him, 
give him another." 

But his star paled and went out almost as I spoke, 
for Danny suddenly sprang forward, and with a 
cleverness and intelligence that I have never seen 
equaled, caught the coon's long tail, that lay upon 
the ground, in his teeth. With a sudden spring 
backward he brought the coon sprawling on his back 
and off his guard, with his throat open to the attack. 






BOOKS IN RUNNING BROOKS 141 

Even then the old renegade died game, for he left 
several long scratches on the hound's belly, and bit 
him in the cheek as he closed upon his throat. 

But it had been Danny's stratagem rather than his 
pluck that won the battle. 

Danny was jubilant, and danced about us as we 
walked home. Ben also was elated, for he was a 
philosopher and knew that we could not keep our 
chickens if the coon was allowed to live, but my own 
feelings were a sorry mixture of triumph and regret. 

I had hunted Ringtail relentlessly, but at the last 
moment would have been glad to have seen him es- 
cape up the tree. 

If he had been some one's else pet, it would have 
been different. But I finally steeled my heart with 
the thought of the dead hound that Ringtail had 
killed, and of the coonskin cap and mittens that I 
would wear the coming winter. 



Books in Running Brooks 

ONE Saturday afternoon in midsummer, w 7 hen the 
air was sweet with the breath of new-mown hay, and 
the roadways and lanes were gay with buttercups 
and golden-rod, Old Ben came strolling into the 
yard, carrying two of his famous ironwood fishing 
poles on his shoulder. 

Each of these home-made rods was rigged with 



i 4 2 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

the celebrated horse-hair line that Old Ben alone 
knew how to make, and with hook and sinkers. 

" Hello, Harry," cried my friend cheerily, as soon 
as I appeared, "let's go fishing." 

I needed no second invitation, and rushed to the 
shed for a fork with which to dig worms. 

"W 7 here are you goin' to dig um?" asked Ben, 
when I returned with the fork. 

"In the sink drain," I replied; "there are lots of 
fine ones there." 

"That's not the place at all," said the old fisher- 
man promptly ; " worms from the drain will be soft 
and light colored. What we want is the black 
tough fellows that won't break when you put them 
on." ' 

We soon found a place by the roadside where the 
worms were black and tough, and rilled our boxes. 

" You hain't got no breathing places in the top of 
your bait-box, Harry," said Ben; "your worms will 
all smother." 

I had not thought of this, but he soon remedied 
the difficulty by punching holes in the tin box with 
a nail and a stone. He then made me the proudest 
boy in town by presenting me with the extra pole 
he had brought along, and we at once started for 
the sweet little meadow brook that had always been 
my delight. 

Old Ben went at a long lope and I trotted by his 
side. 



BOOKS IN RUNNING BROOKS 143 

" There is a wise old chap named Shakespeare," 
he said. " I dunno much about him, but I heared 
one thing that he said once, that I hev alius remem- 
bered : ' There's books in runnin' brooks, sermons 
in stones, an' good in everything.' Now, that's 
mighty true. Brooks are like people, they begin 
small and grow a little every day of their journey. 
Sometimes they run through the alder bushes where 
it is dark, and then they murmur like they were sor- 
rowful. Then they run down pebbly slopes, where 
it is sunny, an' you can fairly hear um laugh." 

My heart beat like a trip-hammer as we neared 
the brook, but Ben, as he would say, " was as cool 
as a cucumber." He showed me how to loop the 
worm on, so it would look natural, then told me to 
go ahead and he would follow behind an' ketch the 
little ones that I left. 

I threw into the first likely hole, and was waiting 
for a bite when I heard Old Ben talking. " Hello, 
you ole green-back, you had better let that hook 
alone or you'll be pricked, it ain't intended for you. 
anyway." 

"Who are you talking to?" I asked. 

" An old green bull-frog," he answered. " He 
looks so comical, settin' under a lily-pad, winking 
and blinking. Know what becomes of frogs in the 
winter, Harry ? " 

" No," I said, " what does ? " 

"Why they jest freeze up, stiff as pokers. I often 



144 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

find um under the mould when I am settin' mink 
traps. Snakes does the same way. I found one 
once when I was choppin'. He was in a hollow 
birch, frozen stiff as a hickory. I carried him home 
and set him up in the corner, an' in half an hour he 
was crawling round on the floor lively as you please. 
I didn't want no snakes for ev'ry-day company, so I 
put him outdoors and let him friz up again, an' sleep 
until spring. Pull him in, Harry, pull him in." 

I had been interested in Ben's story of the snake 
and had not noticed that my line was zigzagging 
around the pool I twitched upon the pole with all 
my might and the trout went several rods back into 
the meadow. 

Ben laughed. " Any one would think you wuz 
throwin' apples on a stick by the way you twitch. 
Jest give your wrist a turn like this," and with an 
easy motion Ben hooked a fine trout and lifted him 
out upon the grass» 

I went back into the meadow to look for my trout, 
but could not find it. " Right by that leetle willow 
bush," shouted Ben ; " you alius want to mark a 
thing down by some bush or brake an' then you can 
find it." 

I looked where he indicated and found my trout. 

I wondered more and more as the afternoon went 
by how Old Ben could see so many things that were 
hidden from me. The woodcock borings and the 
mink tracks in the mud, the frogs and the lizards, 



BOOKS IN RUNNING BROOKS 145 

and the beautiful bunches of lily-pads and water 
grass. Nothing escaped his notice, and in every- 
thing he found beauty. 

" It's jest hevin' on your woodsman's specks," he 
said. " You will hev a fine pair in a few years if you 
keep on an' sorter take notice of things." 

In the big pool by the old log I discovered a fine 
large trout, headed up stream, lazily fanning the 
water with his fins. Cautiously I approached him, 
but no allurement would cause him to bite. 

Old Ben got several kinds of bait for me, includ- 
ing a grasshopper, a cricket, and a grub, but the old 
trout was wary. Finally Ben chuckled and said, " I 
guess we'll fix him now ; I'll go up stream and rile 
the water, an' you stay here. When the muddy water 
floats down by you a spell, throw in your worm an' 
let it go down with it." 

I did as instructed, and to my great astonishment 
the cunning fish took my bait with a suddenness 
that nearly twitched the pole away from me, and a 
second later I landed him fairly. 

" Now, Harry," said my friend, when I had done 
dancing about, " why did he bite when I riled the 
water ? " This question was too much for me and I 
had to give it up. 

" Wal," said Ben, " it is this way. That ole trout 
probably knew what a hook and line was as well as 
you or I, but when he saw the rile coming down 
stream he thought to himself, ' The bank has caved 



146 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

in, and here comes a fine worm that has fallen in 
with it. I'll take it.' 

" Don't you see how natural that was ? You can't 
fool these little beauties very often, an' the only way 
to do it is in one of nater's own ways." 

Just where the little brook gurgled through the 
wall between the mowing and the pasture and then 
hid in the spruce woods we were treated to one of 
those pleasant surprises that makes the study of 
woodcraft so fascinating. 

I was in the lead and was blundering along in my 
accustomed fashion, when, just as I mounted a stone 
wall, a mother partridge, closely followed by ten or 
a dozen chicks came scurrying out from under the 
spruces. The small partridges looked for all the 
world like brown Leghorn chickens just hatched, 
and the old partridge ruffled her wings, very much 
as a hen would do. But instead of clucking she 
cried "quit, quit, quit," and seemed in great dis- 
tress. 

With the instinct of a young savage I gave chase, 
and then the mother partridge acted very strangely. 

She fluttered down upon the ground in front of 
me almost within hand's reach, and then I saw that 
one of her legs was injured, for she limped and flut- 
tered along in a painful manner. Again and again 
I reached for her, but in some unaccountable manner 
she would slip under a bush or into a brake and just 
elude my grasp. 



BOOKS IN RUNNING BROOKS 147 

As I dove under a low spruce after her I heard 
Old Ben shout, " Go it, Harry, I will bet on the par- 
tridge." 

He proved to be a good prophet, for the next time 
I reached for the wary mother she shot out from the 
underbrush with a roar of wings and the speed of a 
rifle bullet. Then there was a flash of fleeting wings 
and feathers, the friendly arms of the Forest closed 
behind her and she was gone. I peered into the 
treetops and under the low hanging branches, but 
no partridge was to be seen. Then I heard smoth- 
ered laughter from Old Ben, and looking around saw 
him sitting upon a knoll, holding his sides and 
chuckling. 

" You orter hed salt, Harry, you orter hed salt," 
said the old man, when he had laughed sufficiently 
at my expense. 

"What for?" I asked, considerably nettled that 
he should be laughing at me. 

" Why, to put on her tail ; then you could have 
caught her, Harry." 

" Well," I replied, " I almost got her without any 
salt. Didn't you see me nearly get my hand on her? 
Didn't you notice how lame she was ? One of her 
legs was almost broken." 

At this Ben laughed again, but I could see nothing 
to laugh at. " You are dead easy, Harry," he said, 
when his mirth had subsided. " It reminds me of 
the old proverb, ' Big head, little wit,' but I chased a 



148 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

lame mother partridge myself once when I was a 
boy, and I suppose I ought not to laugh at you." 

"Why, wasn't she lame?" I asked, at last be- 
ginning to get a little light upon the mystery. 

" Acted sorter done up when she lit out for un- 
known parts, didn't she ? " asked my tormentor pro- 
vokingly. " Went about sixty miles an hour, as 
near as I could cackerlate. All she wanted was to 
get you away from her chicks so they could hide, 
and that was why she fluttered along and made such 
a fuss." My eyes opened wide with astonishment. 
"You see," continued my tormentor, "there was 
more brains in her little butternut head than there 
was in your great curly pate, an* she fooled you 
completely, and that's the way 'tis half the time in 
the woods. When man, who thinks that God gave 
him all the brains there was on hand at the time, 
undertakes to outwit a fox, or a partridge, or even a 
crow, he finds out his mistake, an' gits some of the 
conceit taken out of him." 

" Where do you suppose all the young partridges 
have gone ? " I asked as we made our way back to 
the spot where we had first seen them. 

"They hev hid," said Ben. "When the mother 
went away she said, ' Now you hide and stay hid 
until I come back, 5 and they would if she was gone 
half a day." 

We poked about in the grass and weeds, but could 
see nothing of them. Just as we had given up the 



BOOKS IN RUNNING BROOKS 149 

search Old Ben pointed to a yellow brake near my 
feet. I looked down and saw one of the chicks with 
his head tucked under the brake, but with his body 
in plain sight. I reached down quickly and closed 
my hand over him, but only pressed my own empty 
palm, for at the same instant there was a rustle in 
the grass and the young partridge had gone as 
though the ground had opened and swallowed him. 

Ben answered my look of astonishment with a 
chuckle. " Might as well try to catch a humming- 
bird," he said. " They are quick as greased light- 
ning, and the cunningest bird in the forest. They 
are one of the things you cannot tame. Wild they 
are born and wild they die." 

We went back to the meadow and hid behind the 
wall where there was a convenient peep-hole that 
permitted us to see without being seen. 

After about fifteen minutes the old partridge came 
sailing back over the treetops and alighted on the 
ground near where we had last seen her brood. 

She had departed with a roar of wings, but she 
came back as noiseless as a swallow. 

After reconnoitering for a moment, seeing that the 
coast was clear, she began calling in a low cr-re-kk, 
cr-re-ekk. Then one by one the chicks came up out 
of the grass and brakes, but from just where I could 
not tell. I saw the exact hiding-place of only one, 
and he came from a bunch of grass. When she had 
satisfied herself that all were there, she led them 



150 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

away into the deep woods, bristling and calling to 
them as she went. 

When the purple shadows began to steal from 
bush and brake, and the swallows flew low o'er the 
meadow lands, we wound up our fishing tackle and 
started for home, which by this time was nearly a 
mile away. 

I had nine small brook trout on a willow switch, 
while the count revealed nineteen upon Old Ben's 
forked stick. 

11 1 don't see what made them bite your hook so 
much better than they did mine," I said ruefully, 
feasting my eyes upon Ben's fine string of speckled 
beauties. 

" Wal, Harry/' he said soothingly, " I reckon it is 
this way. You see the big fellers are wary and don't 
bite in a hurry. When you come along they sorter 
think it over, and by the time I get along, they are 
ready to bite. 

" Here is something I found in the brook," and 
Ben took a small object about the size of a silver 
dollar from his pocket and placed it in my hand. 

It was a cute little baby turtle, with a beautifully 
marked shell and an inquisitive head which he poked 
out at me. 

"Where did you find him?" I asked. " I didn't 
see anything that looked like a turtle." 

" No, probably not," said Ben. " You would have 
thought he was a small stone, or a brown leaf, any- 



BOOKS IN RUNNING BROOKS 151 

thing but a turtle. But just where I found him there 
was the print of one of your bare feet, an' I reckon 
you nearly stepped on him. Did you ever hear how 
the turtle got his shell, Harry ? " 

" No," I said, all excitement, for I thought I scented 
one of Old Ben's home-made woodcraft stories ; 
"tell me." 

" It ain't much of a story," said my companion, 
" but it was this way. Once, years and years ago, 
long before Christopher Columbus discovered Amer- 
ica, or George chopped down the cherry tree, there 
lived a turtle, way off in the island of Madagascar, 
or some such place, I don't remember just where, it 
was so long ago. 

" The turtle didn't have any shell then, only a 
sorter tough hide, and he was a terrible awkward 
lookin' feller, all legs an' tail an' loose jinted. 

" He used to like to bask in the sunshine on the 
bank, just as he does now, but sometimes the flies 
would bite him, or his back would get blistered by 
the heat. 

" He got to thinkin' it over one day, an 5 * thought 
what a fine thing it would be to have a little house 
that one could carry around all the time to keep the 
sun and the flies off, and to go into when an enemy 
came along. The more he thought about it the 
better he liked it. But he couldn't seem ter find 
anything that would do for a house. 

" Wal, one day Mr. Turtle was under a cocoanut 



152 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

tree taking a nap, when down fell a large cocoanut 
that struck on a rock an* broke in two. 

"The turtle woke up and looked around, and 
there was his house all ready for him. 

" Why, he nearly laughed out loud when he saw 
it. He set to work and gnawed out the meat and 
made holes in the sides of the cocoanut shell for his 
legs, head and tail, and the house was ready. But 
how in the world was he to keep it on, especially the 
lower half ? The roof would stay on all right, if he 
was careful, but the under side was another matter. 

" Wal, the turtle thought very hard, and then he 
remembered the gum-stickum tree. So he went and 
nipped ofi some bark and got some gum stickum 
and smeared both parts of the shell over inside and 
the house was ready for him. 

" First he laid on his back in the top part of the 
house and it stuck nicely, then he laid on his belly 
in the bottom part, and the shell fitted together fine, 
and after a few weeks it grew together and you 
could not see where it had been cracked. 

" Then he polished it up by rubbing on rocks in 
the river, and the water helped to make it smooth 
and get off the fuzz, 'til you would not know that it 
had been made out of a cocoanut shell at all. 

" Finally he got his friend, the lobster, who was a 
kind of artist, to paint the shell over green and 
mottled, and the house was done. 

" Here we are at the gate, Harry. Keep the 



THE MISCHIEF-MAKER 153 

little turtle a few days in a tub of water and watch 
him, but take him back to the brook in a week or 
so, for that is his home, and we all love our home." 



The Mischief-Maker 

THE Mischief-Maker sat on the limb of an old 
apple-tree barking and scolding away as though the 
whole world had been turned upside down, and there 
was no one in the world to right it but himself. It 
was little he could do to put things right, for he was 
a mischief-maker, and more than likely to turn things 
wrong side out himself. 

If I were to enumerate all the wicked pranks that 
he had done since the daffodils awoke from their 
winter sleep, the mere mention of each would fill the 
entire length of this story, and tire you to death. A 
few of the most flagrant of his pranks will serve to 
show you the turn of his mind and his ingenuity in 
small deviltry. 

The first bluebird had barely got here, " shifting 
his light load of song from post to post," as Lowell 
says, when the Mischief-Maker discovered a pair of 
gray squirrels living in an isolated first-growth 
maple, that was old and hollow, and afforded them 
a fine shelter. Their winter's store was nearly gone, 
but there were still some choice hickory nuts left, 
and a good supply of chestnuts ; not to mention 



154 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

three ears of corn which were tucked away at the 
bottom of the store in the autumn, and had not yet 
been eaten. 

Usually the Mischief-Maker would have set up a 
terrible barking and scolding on discovering a pair 
of gray squirrels, but thinking that this would alarm 
them and set them on their guard he stole quietly 
away, and with more forethought than he usually 
showed, thought out a plan for their undoing. 

Every day thereafter he took up a position in the 
top of a butternut tree near the house, where he 
could watch the maple. One day when he saw the 
two gray-coated cousins go away for a day's visit in 
the deep woods, he called two of his red imps, and 
the three red squirrels proceeded to the big maple. 
Then the Mischief-Maker scurried up to the hole 
in the maple, which was the home of the grayers, 
and dropped down the remainder of their winter 
store, while his two companions proceeded to hide 
it in every conceivable crack and cranny. There 
was no system in their mischief either, and a great 
deal of the hard-earned store they were never able 
to find again, so that it did no one any good. 

When the grayers returned, late in the afternoon, 
they were heart-broken to find their store entirely 
gone, but there was great glee in the apple orchard, 
where three red squirrels made merry over their joke. 

The arbutus had pushed up through the dead 
leaves and grass and was gladdening the pasture 



THE MISCHIEF-MAKER 155 

land with its sweet, shy beauty when the Mischief- 
Maker discovered the remains of Chippy's winter 
store at the root of an old beech. Then this heart- 
less freebooter robbed him just as cruelly as he had 
done the grayers. 

For a while after this he could rob no more, as the 
winter store was all gone, and bird-nesting time had 
not yet come. But as soon as the birds began their 
building his sharp eyes were upon them. You must 
not imagine though that he had been unemployed 
during these two or three weeks. 

He had been carrying corn from the garret and 
scattering it about in the near-by fields, that he 
might dine on it when hungry. 

He did not really need the corn, as there were 
plenty of last year's butternuts under the tree near 
the house, and up in the orchard were rotten apples, 
from which he delighted in gnawing the seeds. But 
the corn was carefully hung up in the garret, being 
kept for seed, and thus gave an added relish to steal 
it. The people who lived in the large farmhouse 
were always good to the red Mischief-Maker, but 
that made no difference, as he had no conscience to 
which one could appeal. 

Although he kept rather quiet during nest-build- 
ing time, yet his bright eyes were taking in all that 
was going on in the trees, and many a nest he 
marked for his own. 

He never disturbed a nest while the male bird was 



156 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS- 

about, for he was afraid of having his eyes pecked 
out. Secretly he was a great coward, which fact he 
well concealed by making a loud noise on all oc- 
casions. When the female bird had been left alone 
he would steal quietly up, and frighten her from the 
nest, then he would eat the eggs and beat a hasty 
retreat, so when the male bird came flying swiftly 
back, alarmed by the cries of his mate, he could find 
no one to charge with robbing his nest. Or if he 
did see the Mischief-Maker the next day sitting on 
the wall, scolding as usual, that small scalawag had 
such an innocent look, and was so abused when 
Robin accused him of the theft, that he concluded 
it was some other thief, and begged the Mischief- 
Maker's pardon, while that rogue snickered behind 
his paw. 

Best of all, the red squirrel loved quietly to slip up 
when both birds were away from the nest and do his 
wicked work. If he was not hungry, he would 
merely bite into the eggs, or drop them down to the 
ground to break them. 

Once he had stolen up very quietly to investigate 
a large, strange-looking nest that his prying eyes 
had discovered in the top of a hemlock. It was not 
until he was almost at the brim of the nest that he 
discovered two big winking, blinking eyes looking 
at him. These eyes reminded him of those of the 
cat into whose paws he had rushed one day while 
fleeing from a boy with a sling shot. He had es- 



THE MISCHIEF-MAKER 157 

caped from the cat by dodging and twisting, but he 
never forgot the look of those eyes. 

This time he was too frightened to run. So he 
merely loosed his hold on the limb, and fell to the 
ground. This alone saved his life, for the owl came 
flopping after him, almost as soon as he struck the 
ground. But the fall aroused him, and he escaped 
under the roots of the tree, where he stayed for half 
a day. 

The Mischief-Maker had been thinking while he 
had been sitting in the old sweet-apple tree. 

It had been a long time since his teeth had cracked 
a nut, and they fairly ached for something hard to 
crunch. The old nuts had been softened by the wet, 
until they no longer had that hard, crisp feel that he 
loved. He must have something to crack. 

Then a very wicked thought, probably the worst 
one that he had ever entertained, came into his head, 
and he made the orchard fairly ring with scolding 
and barking. It would be such sport. His tail 
twitched, his head bobbed, and his bright eyes 
snapped. But the old birds might peck him, for 
they would be terribly angry. " Chatter — chee — 
chirr-rr-r — ." " Let them," and with a whisk of his 
tail and a flash of red along the trunk of the apple 
tree, he was gone on his wicked errand. 

A moment later he might have been seen running 
along the stone wall, by the highway. Directly op- 
posite a big maple, a few rods down the road, he 



158 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

stopped and peered up into its branches, cocking 
his head on one side and then on the other. He 
could see the nest plainly from where he sat. The 
male bird was not at home, for he would have been 
singing at this time of day, had he been there. He 
did not think the female was at home either, for he 
could usually see her head above the top of the nest 
from his perch on the wall. 

A moment the Mischief-Maker hesitated, and then 
flashed across the road in a series of quick jumps 
and scurried up the tree. " Was it this limb or the 
one above ? " A tree never looks the same up in 
the branches as it does from the ground. " O yes, 
there it is ! " And in another second he was stand- 
ing over the nest, looking straight down into the 
open mouths of four small robins, who heard the 
noise, and thought that their parents had returned 
with worms or grubs. 

The Mischief- Maker singled out the largest of the 
young robins, and dragged him over the edge of the 
nest The poor little fellow wriggled and squirmed 
but made no sound. Then this hard-hearted ma- 
rauder cracked his skull with his sharp teeth, just as 
he would crack a nut, and ate his brain. He dropped 
the little, brainless, dead robin to the ground, and 
reached for another. 

Where were the old birds? Would nothing stay 
this wanton murderer ? 

Away up in the sky, almost in the sun it seemed, 



THE MISCHIEF-MAKER 159 

was a motionless silver speck. It was so high up 
that it looked like a speck of dust, and one would 
have to gaze long to see it. 

The second fledgeling was dragged to the side of 
the nest and brained like the first, and then dropped 
quivering to the ground. 

The silver speck in the sky was growing larger, 
though it seemed to be motionless. But it was not 
motionless. The fact that it grew steadily larger 
should tell you that. It was coming straight down 
for the tree, and no runaway train ever coasted down 
the side of a mountain on gleaming rails as swiftly 
as these silver-gray wings bore this wild coaster 
down through space to its quarry. 

Like the fall of a meteor, making a beautiful 
oblique line against the warm summer sky it came. 

It was no avenging power, or spurred knight, that 
was coming to the rescue. It was merely an acci- 
dent that the hawk saw the squirrel cross the road, 
and later located him on the limb'by the nest. 

Just as the third fledgeling was dragged to the 
edge of the nest to be butchered, there was a rush of 
air like a sudden gust of wind. Then two broad 
wings struck the maple leaves like the fall of hail- 
stones. The twigs parted obedient to the terrible 
rush, and steely talons were wrapped about the mur- 
derer caught in the act. 

There was a frightened chirp and a squeak or 
two, and the Mischief-Maker hung limp in the strong 



160 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

claws of the hawk. His red coat dripped blood as 
he was borne away to a maple stub in the pasture, 
where the same fate was meted out to him that a 
moment before he was inflicting upon the fledgelings. 

Thus goes the life in the busy fields and woods. 

If a snake or a squirrel rob the bird's nest, yet the 
eyes of the hawk or the owl are upon them. There 
is nothing so small or insignificant that something 
else does not prey upon it, and nothing so strong or 
fleet of foot, that it does not have its enemies, and 
live eternally upon guard. 



A Tender Mother 

Old Ben discovered it. He always discovered 
everything that was going on in the field and woods, 
and never seemed to be looking for anything out of 
the ordinary either. But somehow his eyes could 
single out fur and feathers among the brakes and 
bushes, when mine saw nothing but the bare leaves. 

Sometimes I would think I had stolen a march on 
him, and would whisper excitedly, " Ben, see that 
chipmunk." 

Then he would look ruefully down at me, and, 
pursing up his mouth, would say in his quizzical 
manner : 

" Harry, I can't make out whether you are first 
cousin to the bat or the owl, but it is certin' one of 



A TENDER MOTHER 161 

um. Why that chippy and I hev been winking back 
and forth to each other for half an hour. Mor'n five 
minutes ago, he asked me, with a little jerk of his 
head, is he stone blind, an' I replied with a shake, 
only partly." 

It was just so when we were on the mill pond. 
Ben could see fish down in the pickerel grass and 
lily-pads, when I saw only green stuff and dancing 
ripples. 

" Don't see any bull-frogs, do you, over in that 
bunch of lily-pads?" he would sometimes say, just 
to try me. 

Then I would strain my eyes, and perhaps after 
five minutes would discover a couple of old green 
fathers of the pond, tucked in under the pads, but 
Ben had seen them at the first glance. 

The particular thing that Ben discovered this time 
interested me more than anything we had ever seen 
together before, for it was nothing more or less than 
a litter of foxes. 

He had seen one of the old foxes go into the bur- 
row on the side of a hill, late in March, and had 
guessed the truth. 

He said nothing to me about it, though, until 
about the first of May, when he had seen the mother 
fox with three little ones playing about the hole on a 
sunny afternoon. When he had made sure that his 
first surmise was correct, he took me to watch this 
most interesting family. 



162 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

We had to be very careful, for the fox is wary, and 
his powers of perception are of the keenest ; there 
are few wild things that can scent man further than 
a fox. Many a pleasant afternoon we had to give 
up a visit to the burrow because the wind was in the 
wrong direction. If the old fox should scent us too 
often she would either move her family, or else not 
bring them out except by moonlight. 

The burrow was on a side hill, and we used to ob- 
serve it from across a little valley. We would come 
out on the top of the opposite hill, keeping in the 
spruces as long as we could, then crawl on our hands 
and knees to a pyramid-shaped spruce that stood 
alone out in the pasture, a few rods nearer the bur- 
row. We always kept this spruce between us and 
the burrow, and so got a very good position, where 
we could see and not be seen. Then if the wind was 
all right, there was little danger of our being dis 
covered. 

Another thing that helped us was a good sized 
brook that ran through the valley between us and 
the foxes, and its murmuring covered up any noise 
we might accidentally make. 

We had an old army field- glass, that I usually 
used, but Ben said he could see well enough with 
his naked eye. The little foxes could just waddle 
about when we first saw them, and Ben said their 
mother brought them out more to get a sun-bath and 
a whiff of fresh air than to exercise, for they were too 



A TENDER MOTHER 163 

small to do much but roll and tumble about. But it 
was surprising how their activity grew from day to 
day. In a month after our first visit to them, they 
would play like kittens. They were lighter colored 
than the mother, being a sort of reddish yellow, and 
having no black, not even on the tip of the tail. 

When they were hungry their wild mother would 
lie down upon the grass and the three lively young- 
sters would stretch out in a row, and get their dinner 
or supper. 

One day the mother went down to the river and 
caught a frog which she carried back to the mouth 
of the burrow. Soon the three imps appeared, and 
she gave them the frog to play with. 

Then they rolled and tumbled over each other, all 
scrambling for the poor frog. When he got away 
from them, the mother went after him and brought 
him back, and they tossed and tumbled and mauled 
him about until life left him, but after that he had no 
attraction for them. 

Later on she brought them more frogs, mice, small 
snakes, and occasionally a bird, all of whom fared 
hard in the clutches of the young foxes. After a 
week or two at this fierce play they became veritable 
little savages, and would tear anything that came in 
their way to bits in short order. 

About this time began a sort of lesson or drill in 
getting into the hole in a hurry at any suspicious 
noise, or at least that was what we supposed it meant. 



i6 4 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

The old fox would leave the youngsters playing 
about the burrow and go off into the bushes. They 
would be tumbling about, frisking and frolicking like 
kittens, when suddenly the old fox would appear. 
Then these young reynards would put for the hole 
as though all the hounds in the county were after 
them. Again and again they repeated this opera- 
tion, until the slightest rustle in the grass caused 
them to disappear as though by magic. 

After this the mother would leave them for an hour 
at a time and go away to hunt. We rarely saw the 
male fox. Only once or twice he came around 
toward dark and entered the burrow. 

He was a large fellow, of a deeper and richer red 
than usual, with dark markings. Ben said he was 
probably a cross-fox. One afternoon about the first 
of June, when the small foxes had got to be quite 
scrappers, we heard the mother coughing and sneez- 
ing, at which Ben said, " Distemper. It is rather late 
in the spring to have it, but that is what is the mat- 
ter." We had been having a long rainy spell, and 
the month was cold, which probably accounted for it. 

The next time we saw them the old fox looked quite 
sick. Her brush was down and she had a dejected 
air, and came several times to the river to drink, 
which Ben said meant that she had fever, but the 
small foxes were nowhere to be seen. 

" They are probably sick too," said Ben, which 
proved to be the case. 




SHE GAVE THEM THE FROG TO PLAY WITH. 



A TENDER MOTHER 165 

We were quite anxious to know how it fared with 
the fox family, so we went the next afternoon. For 
half an hour we could see nothing of either the small 
foxes or their mother, but finally she came out, bring- 
ing one of the little ones in her mouth. 

She placed him on the pile of dirt at the mouth of 
the burrow. He did not seem inclined to run about, 
but curled up in a small bunch and lay quiet. Then 
she began licking him, and walking uneasily about 
him, and finally laid down in front of him, and tried 
to get him to nurse, but he did not care for any 
dinner, at which the mother seemed worried. Then 
she took him in her mouth, and paced up and down, 
much as a mother would walk about with a child, 
trying to hush it to sleep. Every now and again 
she would lay the little fox down and lick it, and 
mother it. 

When she had mothered it for half an hour in this 
way she took it back into the hole, and we saw no 
more of her that day. 

The next day we went to the fox family again, in 
whose fortunes we now felt a deep concern. 

Again the mother fox brought out a sick little one, 
but we could not tell whether it was the one we had 
seen the day before or not. This time it hung limp 
from her jaws, and when she laid it on the ground it 
remained quiet, a pathetic little bunch of fur. 

The distress of this wild mother over the sick- 
ness of its little one was pitiful to see, and, thought- 



1 66 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

less boy that I was, it made a deep impression on 
me. 

She would trot around it, and lick it, and poke it 
gently with her nose. Then she would go off a 
short distance and stand and watch it, as though 
she thought it was feigning sickness, and would be 
all right if she was not so anxious. But she could 
not remain long away, and each time she would re- 
turn and fall to caressing it. Finally as a last resort 
she shook it gently in her mouth, and then fearing 
that she had been too rough, licked and mothered 
it, as though asking forgiveness. 

But seeing that all these remedies did no good 
she brought it to the brook and laying it down on 
the grass, dipped her paw in the water and gently 
sprinkled its head. Not getting water fast enough 
this way, she filled her mouth, and let it drip upon 
the little fox. 

Finally, seeing that all effort was useless, she lifted 
it gently and dropped it into the brook. This we took 
to mean that she at last understood it was dead. 

The next afternoon she brought out another little 
kit-fox and went through the same operations with 
him that she had done with the first, for he too was 
dead. This time it did not take so long for her to 
satisfy herself about it. This baby she did not put 
in the brook, but hid it in a hole between two stones, 
where she probably thought it would be safer than 
out in plain sight. 



A TENDER MOTHER 167 

We stayed later than usual that afternoon, and so, 
by a mere accident, saw the departure of the fox 
family from their ill-fated burrow. 

It was just getting dusk, and a star or two had 
pricked through the sky to see what we were doing 
so late under the spreading spruce. 

I had put up the field-glass when Ben called my 
attention to the burrow. The male fox was coming 
out, carrying the remaining little fox in his mouth. 

It was alive, for it kicked and squirmed, protesting 
violently against being carried in that way. 

The old fox evidently had a good plan in his 
head, for he looked cautiously about, then he trotted 
off into the bushes, still carrying the youngster, and 
we never saw either again. 

A few minutes after the mother fox came out, and 
trotted dejectedly after her lord. 

" Wal, I guess that is the end of this story," said 
Ben as she disappeared in the bushes. "They 
wouldn't have taken the little fox without they were 
going somewhere to stay. They probably know of 
another burrow that they are going to for a change. 
Perhaps they think this one is hoodooed." 

As we tramped home in the pleasant twilight, Ben 
regaled me with many incidents of fox-hunting, 
which he had been very fond of when a young man. 
Some of these experiences I have remembered and 
will record for you, but many of them I have for- 
gotten. 



168 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

" Foxes is mighty interesting," said the old man, 
talking in his usual quiet vein. " They are more 
interesting, and harder to find out about than almost 
any other animal in New England. 

" There ain't no other animal in these parts that 
does as much hard thinking and planning as a fox. 
Why, the didos that a fox will go through to throw 
a dog off his track would do credit to a Sioux Injun. 
Sometimes he will make several small circles and 
snarl the track up, and then give a big jump on to a 
rock, or an old log. While the dog is trying to un- 
ravel the snarl in the track, the scent on the rock 
gets cold and the dog can't follow it at all. 

"Then he will keep crossing a brook, or if it is 
winter he will run in a sled road, and step in the 
horses' tracks. When he sees a convenient stone 
wall by the roadside he will run upon it for a few 
rods and then jump off at some unexpected angle. 

" Sometimes he will back-track until he gets within 
twenty or thirty rods of the dog. Then he will give 
a big jump, to one side, and the dog will follow the 
double track until it suddenly ends. After searching 
a while he finally concludes that the fox has taken 
wings and flown away over the treetops. 

" Cutest thing I ever saw in my life, though, an' 
one I wouldn't have believed if I hadn't seen it, hap- 
pened before my own dog, Bugle. (Called him that 
because he had such a fine ringing voice.) 

" One day he started a fox and ran him into a cow 



A TENDER MOTHER 169 

pasture. I see the fox a comin' with the dog a good 
long piece behind. 

" In about the middle of the pasture there was a 
sheep feedin', a sort of cosset that ran with the cows. 
Wal, when that fox saw the sheep, he just put for 
her. I thought he was mad. They goes mad some- 
times, but he had no intention of harmin' the cosset. 
When he got alongside he just jumped on her back, 
and rode across the pasture. Then he hopped off 
and went on his way, rejoicing that he had made a 
break in his track of fifty rods. 

" The perplexed howls that old Bugle gave when 
he came out into the pasture and found the fox track 
suddenly turned into a sheep track was enough to 
make a horse laugh. 

" I could have taken him over to the other side of 
the lot and put him on the track, but I says to myself, 
1 That fox deserves to live. He is smart as folks. 
And even if we did start him again, he would play 
some new dido on us. We had better let him alone/ 

" Speakin' of foxes reminds me, Harry. Did you 
ever hear how 'twas the fox got his brush ? " 

" No," I replied. " How was it ? " 

" Wal," said Ben, " it was this 'ere way : 

" Years and years ago " 

"How many years ago?" I interrupted, in my 
eagerness to be sure of the time. 

" Wal," replied my companion, "I wasn't never 
much of a hand for dates, but I should say about 



iyo WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

half way between Noah and George Washington, 
maybe a leetle nearer George's time, but right along 
there somewhere, there lived an Englishman, or 
maybe he was a Frenchman, or perhaps a German 
living in Patagonia, I don't just recollect which, but 
this man had a dog — a mighty intelligent, reddish- 
yaller purp, he was, with a pointed nose and a long 
slim tail. 

"The man was a chimbley-sweep, and the dog 
finally got so he used to help his master sweep 
chimbleys. He would take a short brush in his 
mouth, and climb up the chimbley — -there was . a 
sorter steps in the chimbley in them days — and he 
would sweep it as slick as a pin. Besides that, he 
used to do lots of other things, like watering the 
flowers in the garden, and dust the furniture in the 
house holdin' the brush in his mouth." 

" How did he water the flowers? " I asked. 

"Why," replied Ben, "his master would fill the 
waterin' pot and he would take the handle in his 
mouth and go about with the pot just like folks. 

" Finally the dog got to thinking one day that it 
would be a great saving if he had a brush hitched to 
himself, he had to use one so much. He couldn't 
very well have it hitched to his paw, so finally he 
thought of his tail. 

" So he went to the upholsterer, and had him soak 
his tail in the glue-pot, and then stick it full of hairs 
until he had the finest kind of a brush. 



A TENDER MOTHER 171 

" Wal, when it got dry he went to sweeping a 
chimbley and was surprised to see how fine it 
worked. He would just start and go up the chim- 
bley and wag his tail all the way, and when he got 
to the top the chimbley was swept. It worked just 
as well in the garden, for all he had to do was to dip 
his brush in the watering-pot and go between two 
rows wagging his tail, and they were both watered. 
In the house it was just as convenient, for he would 
back up to a chair and wag his tail a spell and it 
was dusted better than his mistress would have done 
it ; but there was one drawback, — the poor dog's 
tail got awful tired, wagging all the time, and when 
night came it was nearly ready to drop off. 

" Wal, things went from bad to worse, until finally 
they told him to go and stand by the cradle and keep 
the flies off the baby with his fine brush. He did as 
he was told, but he was gettin' mighty mad. That 
night he tried to pull out the hairs in his tail, but it 
wasn't no use, that upholsterer had done a good job. 
So when all the family was asleep the dog ran away 
and became a fox and lived in the woods all the rest 
of his days. 

<{ Here is your doorstep, Harry, an' supper is wait- 
ing. Good-night." 

"Is that a true story, Ben?" I shouted after him, 
as he disappeared down the walk. He was too far 
away to hear my question, but the stars were all 
winking at me, and the moon fairly grinned as she 



172 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

looked over the eastern hills; so I concluded that 
it was just one of Old Ben's quaint stories of the 
Wood Folks. 



An Autumn Ramble 

On the bright day in November when Old Ben 
and I took our autumn ramble, the gay garments of 
the trees were trailing in the dust, brought low by 
frost and rain. There was occasionally a rock maple 
that was more hardy or better sheltered than its fel- 
lows that still wore the crimson robes, but most of 
the garb of the woods rustled under our feet with a 
pleasant sound. It was great fun to scuff one's feet 
as we sauntered along, and hear the pleasant rustle, 
like turning the tissue paper pages of nature's great 
book. 

Down in this gray-brown carpet there were still 
leaves of the most flaming crimson, or of the bright- 
est yellow, and their brilliancy was even more no- 
ticeable for the somberness of their fellows. 

But you must not imagine that the day was 
gloomy, for nature had poured out a draught of 
summer sun that had been overlooked in the fulness 
of summertime, and the yellow golden sunbeams 
were full of life and warmth. 

The blue-jay in his dazzling livery was flying from 
the corn-field to the deep woods and back again, all 



AN AUTUMN RAMBLE 173 

the time keeping up his noisy call. Squirrels were 
chattering as though this had been the one day in 
all the year, as indeed it was for them. They had 
chipped gleefully when the warm spring winds 
melted the snow so they could get at last year's 
beechnuts, and they had chattered like magpies when 
the summer brought sweet apples and a score of 
other dainties, but now the golden autumn had 
brought nuts, and they fairly shouted their joy from 
the treetops. When they were not busy with the 
nuts, either getting their breakfast or laying in a 
store for winter, they chased each other to and fro 
in the trees like boys playing tag. 

" Let's see if we can discover a grayer," said Ben 
as we struck into a tall first-growth sugar orchard ; 
" this is just the country for them. They are about 
as fond of maple seeds as they are of nuts." 

We seated ourselves at the foot of a large maple, 
and made what Old Ben called a still hunt for a 
grayer. 

"Now, listen," said the old woodsman, "an' let 
me know if you hear anything suspicious." 

I listened with all my ears and heard many things, 
but did not know what they all meant. There was 
always the soft falling of the leaves, and the gentle 
stirring of the nearly naked branches, as they re- 
sponded to the light touch of the wind. Then there 
was the distant calling of crows. There were no red 
squirrels here in the tall maples, and Ben told me 



174 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

that if we saw a red squirrel we might as well stop 
looking for the grayer. He does not like to inhabit 
the same grove that the noisy, mischievous redder 
does, for that mischief-maker is always playing 
pranks upon him. 

After a few moments of quiet, listening to the 
many tongues of the woods, Ben said, " Harry, 
there is a grayer in that big spreading maple with 
the birch near by it." 

" Have you seen him ? " I asked excitedly. 

" No," replied Ben, " but I know he is there." 

" I don't see how you know it if you haven't seen 
him," I replied. 

" Wal, he just sent down a letter sayin' he wuz up 
there in the top of the maple. I guess you don't 
know how to read squirrel letters. 

" Now you just watch where the sunlight falls 
through that big crotch and tell me what you 
see." . 

I did as told, and, in a few seconds, saw a maple 
seed float down at the identical spot Ben had indi- 
cated. 

" See it, Harry," said my friend excitedly. "That 
maple seed didn't hev enny seed in it, it was nothin' 
only the husk or pod, or whatever you call it. Let's 
see if we can get a glimpse of him." 

So we crept forward like Indians, all the time 
watching the falling maple seeds, and after consider- 
able shifting of our position we discovered him away 




GETTING AN EARLY SUPPER IN THE TOP OF A MAPLE. 



AN AUTUMN RAMBLE 175 

in the tip top of the tree, nicely balanced upon the 
end of a branch, with his gray brush waving to and 
fro in the breeze 

II How would you like to be getting an early supper 
in the top of a maple ninety feet from the ground ? " 
asked Ben, poking me in the ribs. " Wouldn't you 
want feet like a fly so you could hold on?" 

After we had seen the grayers get their afternoon 
meal in the tops of the first-growth maple, we struck 
off through the woods, and soon came out on a sunny 
south slope where there were chestnut and beech 
with occasional scrub spruces in the underbrush, 
while out in the open pasture there were two big 
walnut trees which were known to the boys and the 
squirrels for miles around. 

II I never see nuts uv enny kind/' said Ben as we 
began poking under the dead leaves for beechnuts, 
" but it reminds me uv one time when I went beech- 
nuttin' when I wuz a boy. Me an' Zeek went, and 
the nuts wuz awful plenty that fall, I never see no such 
time for nuttin'. They were as thick as spatter on 
the ground, and besides the wind had blown down a 
large limb that was chuck full on um, an' we gut our 
bags and baskets full, an' there wuz plenty more to 
pick. We hated to go home as long as it was light 
an' there was still nuts to pick, but we didn't hev 
nuthin' to put them in. Finally, Zeek, who was 
older than I, said, ' Ben, I'll tell you what we'll do. 
You just take off your shirt, an' we'll tie up the end 



176 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

of the sleeves an' the neck, and it will make a fine 
bag!' 

" ' Let's take yours, Zeek,' I said ; ' it will hold 
more than mine.' 

" ' No,' said Zeek, ' mine is new ; besides we don't 
want one that will hold more than a peck or two, an' 
yours is just right.' 

" I thought I would be cold, but Zeek poohed at 
me and said I would never do for an Injun scout, or 
a pirate, so I finally consented. That about the 
Injun scout an' the pirate had great weight with me 
for that was what I had my mind on, them days. 
Wal, I stripped off my shirt, an' we tied up the 
sleeves and the neck with string, and it made a fine 
bag. It was terrible cold, an' my teeth chattered as 
though I had the ague, but Zeek said I never could 
bear torture if the Injuns ever got me, if I was so 
silly about bein' cold, so I tried not to mind, an' 
hurried around pickin' up nuts to keep warm. 

"Wal, we picked my shirt full, an' just as it was 
gettin' dark, we stole into the garret with our nuts, 
not wishin' the folks to see the nuts in my shirt, but 
I was half froze by that time. 

" We found a bag an' emptied the shirt as soon as 
possible, an' I put it on, but such a shirt as it was I 
never want to put on agin. You see them beech- 
nut burrs had stuck in the woolen until it was com- 
pletely lined with prickers as sharp as needles, that 
scratched me like nettles, particularly when I moved. 



AN AUTUMN RAMBLE 177 

" ' My shirt is all full of prickers, Zeek,' I said ; 
1 it will kill me if I don't take it off.' 

"'Keep it on, Bennie,' he said, 'an' don't say 
nothin' for the world ; if you do we both get a good 
lickin'.' 

" Several times during the evening I was tempted 
to make a confession and take a licking rather than 
wear the shirt another minute, but every few minutes 
I caught Zeek's eye, and it always said, ' Don't you 
do it, Ben, don't you do it ! ' 

" You better believe I was glad when it came bed- 
time, an' I got off that shirt. It irritated my skin so 
that mother thought I had the chicken-pox, but Zeek 
and I knew better." 

Old Ben and I filled the salt bags that we had 
brought along for the purpose, with beechnuts, and 
some sacks with chestnuts, in the burr. 

The woods were full of squirrels that afternoon, 
redders, grayers, and chipmunks, and the redders 
and chippies chattered away in a merry manner, but 
the grayers went soberly about their work, keeping 
as much out of the way as possible. 

"Squirrels is like folks," said Old Ben as we 
plodded home. "There is the redder. He is a 
noisy scatterbrain, never laying up anything in a 
systematic way. Sometimes you will find an apple 
in the crotch of a tree, or a few nuts under a stone, 
but he does not lay up any regular store, and the 
consequence is that he often nearly starves in the 



178 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

winter. On the other hand the grayer and the chip- 
munk lay up a regular store, just as a thrifty man 
does, and then in the winter, when the wind howls 
and the snow falls, the grayer can sit in his hole in 
the tree and eat his nuts and read the paper." 

" Squirrels don't have papers, Ben," I said, in 
surprise. 

" That's so, they don't, Harry, excuse me," said 
the old man, " I forgot ; but they hev all gone to 
school though. They all learn in the school uv life, 
where they learn to take care of themselves, and not 
be eaten up by larger creatures, or killed by man. 

" It is sorter queer, but there ain't no other critter 
so universally feared by all animals as man. He is 
worse than hawks, an' weasels and foxes all put 
together. 

" When I wuz a boy, I was jest like all boys, a 
sort uv wild Injun : wanted to kill ev'rything that I 
saw, but as I git older I don't care so much about 
killin', but I like ter let things live an' watch um, an' 
see what they are thinkin' about. If you kill an 
animal that is the end on it, an' you can't find out 
anything more about it. 

" There are only four things that I make a pint of 
killin' when I get a chance, an' those are weasels, 
hawks, rats, and snakes. 

" I s'pose the Almighty has got some use for them 
too, although I hain't found it out yet. 

" A hawk ain't so bad either, if you get on the 



THE PLOVERS' FIELD-DAY 179 

right side on him. I had one when I was a boy, 
kept him for a pet. I got him out of the top of a 
beech when he was little, an' brought him up by- 
hand. He thought as much of me as he would have 
of his own mother if he had known her. You hev 
heern tell of falconers. Why that hawk was a dandy 
falcon. He would sit upon my shoulder when I 
went after the cows, an' when he spied something, 
you ought to see him put after it. He went after 
snakes an' mice mostly. Why, that hawk would 
skin a snake quicker than you could say Jack 
Robinson. He'd hold his head down an' start the 
skin at his neck, an' then keep rippin' with his claw 
until the snake was skinned neat as a pin, an' 
wouldn't hev knowed hisself if he had looked in a 
lookin'-glass. 

" But finally my hawk went bad. He got to 
catching chickens, an' my brother Zeek shot him. 

" I was sorry to lose him, but we had to keep the 
chickens/ ' 



The Plovers' Field-Day 

One afternoon late in November, when the fall 
winds blew fresh over the fields, and the wind-clouds 
played tag across the blue-gray sky, Old Ben took 
me to see what he styled the " plovers' field-day." 

The gaiety that we had noted in the attire of 



180 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

nature, when we took our autumn ramble, had been 
replaced by a sober gray garb. The leaves danced 
a hornpipe along each pathway. All nature seemed 
to mourn the gay dead summer. 

Ben and I drove three or four miles with my 
father's team, and then walked about a mile " 'cross 
lots," to a great barren stretch of June grass mow- 
ing, known as the plains. This sterile land, which 
only grew June grass and brakes, was cut up like a 
checker-board, with stone walls, dividing it into lots 
of five or ten acres. These lots were dotted with 
stone heaps, but even then there were plenty of 
stones left scattered about. 

We had hardly arrived at the plains when a plover 
rose from the nearest stone-heap, and flew away to 
a distant leafless maple. " He is just a sentry," said 
Ben, "but the plover don't pay much attention to 
men during their field-day, for all they are so shy 
the rest of the time. He'll tell them that we are 
coming, but they will not mind us if we are careful. 
Wiggle-wings, I call um, see how his wings wiggle, 
especially when he rises." 

We could now see plover flying over the fields, in 
small companies of three, five or seven, while some 
groups were even larger. They would fly steadily 
across the field, and when they reached the limit of 
the plains would turn in a broad sweep and fly back 
again. They flew as regularly and steadily as a flock 
of geese, until they reached the turning point. They 



THE PLOVERS' FIELD-DAY 181 

usually flew abreast or nearly so, and never strag- 
gled along, Indian file, as crows are fond of doing. 
When they reached the turning point, one end of 
the line would slow up, slightly, while the outside 
plover struck a bit faster, and the line would turn, as 
cleverly as the maneuvers of a squadron. 

Sometimes they would fly fast, as though trying 
their wings, but usually the pace was slow and meas- 
ured, and their turns were in broad sweeps, for there 
was plenty of room in the upper air. 

" Near as I can make out," said Ben, " an' I hev 
watched um here for several years, this performance 
is a sorter annual muster, or parade, partly to renew 
old acquaintance, but more especially to learn the 
young birds to fly properly, and to gee and haw, 
a sort of getting ready for the long flight south. 
See those three plover coming this way. See how 
much stronger the bird in the middle flies. The 
other two don't half know how to use their wings. 
That is an old bird in the middle, and he is teaching 
the others to fly. Sorter putting them through their 
paces." We walked nearly across the plains, and as 
far as the eye could reach in every direction there 
were plover going through the same maneuvers. It 
was for all the world like a large body of soldiers, 
broken up into small squads, with a captain or ex- 
perienced private breaking in the raw recruits. 

Later on in the afternoon, the small squads seemed 
to be combining, for fifteen or twenty would fly 



182 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

across the fields in a company, but with the same 
regularity and in the same measured manner. 
" That's probably a whole regiment," said Ben, as a 
large flock came in sight. " Looks kinder as though 
they were gettin' ready to break camp." We soon 
saw other large companies, wheeling and circling in 
the same manner, and it was certain that the forma- 
tion of regiments had begun. 

When the sun was about half an hour high, with 
a continuous whistling of wings, a regiment rose in 
unison, to about the same height. We did not hear 
any one say " Fall in," but there were the ranks, a 
little ragged, but symmetrical. 

Then probably some old plover who had led the 
van before, gave the command, " Forward, fly," for 
with a steady, even stroke they swept away into 
the blue-gray distance. The space where they had 
formed had barely cleared, when a second company 
rose in the same manner, formed, wheeled and swept 
after the first. So it went on for fifteen minutes. 
There seemed to be millions of them, and our eyes 
ached with watching. 

At last the solid ranks passed, and then came a 
few stragglers, bringing up the rear, and the parade 
was over. 

" Due southeast," said Ben, as we saw the last 
company fade away. "They are headed straight 
for New York city, but it probably means Jersey or 
Delaware. 



THE PLOVERS' FIELD-DAY 183 

" Mighty cur'us, though, how well they know the 
heavens. I wonder whether it is because they are 
up so high, that they can see everything for half a 
State and can keep their course by the lakes and 
rivers. That would look reasonable, only lots of 
birds fly by night, and hit it just as well. Seems to 
be a sort of instinct, or maybe every one of them has 
got a compass in his head, or his gizzard. 

" Geese fly in a harrow shape, with one strong- 
winged old gander to fly at the point and break the 
wind. When he gets tired, he says ' next gent,' and 
some other gander takes his place. It is a great 
sight, though, to see a large flock of geese swing 
through the sky. They do it so strong and 
steady. 

" Speakin' of flocks reminds me of a time when I 
was a boy an' we hed a great flight of pigeons. 
One morning we got up and found something was 
the matter with the sun. Just shining sorter dimmed, 
a good deal of the time it was dark enough for 
candles. Looked as though the sun was a goin* 
out. But there wan't nothin' the matter with the 
sun. It was just a flight of pigeons, that completely 
covered the heavens as far as we could see. It was 
just so off an' on for hours, and when they had all 
gone, we felt as relieved as though it had been a 
two-days' rain, and the sun had just appeared. That 
was a flight worth seein', but it hain't never hap- 
pened since, and that was sixty years ago." 



i8 4 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

The Great Circus Cat 

The fitful gleam of two score lanterns, following 
at regular intervals, a few rods apart, was trailing 
along a country road. The moon and stars were 
hidden by a soft spring haze, that enveloped the 
travelers, wrapping all things in its gray mantle. 

By the light of each lantern one could see revolv- 
ing wheels, and the massive outlines of circus vans. 
Here and there a light, stronger than the rest, re- 
vealed the outline of the driver sitting wrapped in 
his great oilskin coat, guiding the team through the 
dense darkness. 

Even had it not been for the lanterns, one would 
have guessed that a large caravan was passing, from 
the snapping and creaking of the axles, and a score 
of other small sounds that always attend the moving 
of heavy freight. 

Most of the drivers were alert, watching the bushes 
by the roadside that they might guide their teams as 
near between the two dark outlines as possible. 

Others in the middle of the procession dozed, feel- 
ing quite sure that the horses, so long accustomed 
to the life, would trail after the lantern in front of 
them, and keep the road. 

Two or three of the drivers neither watched the 
team which they were supposed to drive, or the road, 
but were wholly engrossed with black bottles on the 
seat beside them. 



THE GREAT CIRCUS CAT 185 

Such was the condition of Big Ireland, as he was 
called by the hands, the driver of the great van, con- 
taining the panther and jaguar. 

Presently the teams in the distance began rum- 
bling over a short iron bridge. One could have 
guessed this, for the sounds of the heavy wheels on 
the plank came nearer and nearer, giving the im- 
pression that the bridge was traveling toward one, 
for there was nothing in this dense darkness by 
which to gauge the movements of the team. 

When the van carrying the big cats struck the 
bridge, which was narrow, the team had hauled over 
to the left, and the shutters of the cage barely cleared 
the strong iron pillar that stood guard at the corner 
of the bridge. 

Although his faculties were numbed by drink, Big 
Ireland felt that something was wrong, and instinc- 
tively pulled upon the right rein, or what would have 
been the right rein had they not been crossed. At 
the same time he spoke sharply to the horses. Then 
there was a grating, grinding sound, and the drunken 
driver reached for his whip. Twice it fell upon the 
frightened horses, and the grating and grinding gave 
place to cracking and breaking. Then there was a 
hideous din, in which the squealing and kicking of 
horses, the breaking of strong wood and ripping of 
bars, and the snarling of frightened, infuriated cats 
could be distinctly heard. 

When the drivers from the teams ahead and behind 



1 86 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

hurried to the scene, they found one horse down, his 
legs through the latticework in the side of the bridge. 
The two left wheels of the wagon had gone through 
an opening between the railing and the floor of the 
bridge, and were wedged in clear to the hub, while 
the forward side of the van had been literally gutted. 

Their first thought was of Chieftain, the great cir- 
cus cat, but the flash of their lanterns into the cage 
showed that he was gone. 

When the van driven by Big Ireland struck the 
bridge, Chieftain the panther was lying curled up 
in one corner of the cage asleep. His first instinct 
on being so rudely awakened was to slink away into 
the furthest corner from the commotion. But when 
he heard the tearing of the bars that had so long 
stifled him, he raised his head and sniffed the air 
eagerly. He could not see that the side of the cage 
had been ripped open, but something told him that 
it was so. For a breath of freedom blew through the 
open bars that only a wild creature, for years held 
captive, could have discerned. 

He stretched his great paw forward and felt the 
opening. Then cautiously slipped through to the 
railing of the bridge, where one great spring carried 
him into the darkness, and night folded her arms 
about him, as though to protect this wild creature 
from pursuit, while the fields and the meadows cried, 
" Come, you are ours, we will feed and water you." 

At first the panther, so long cramped in his cage, 



THE GREAT CIRCUS CAT 187 

crept cautiously through the darkness. His eyes, so 
long used to artificial light, winked and blinked 
strangely. But by degrees the pupils dilated to their 
utmost and drank in whatever light the gloom con- 
tained, and with cat-like stealth he crept along the 
pasture. 

Now and then the great cat would stop to roll like 
a kitten upon the grass, or stretch its limbs. Once 
it gave two or three great bounds, just to feel those 
sturdy limbs spurn the green earth. 

After about two hours, a gray streak appeared in 
the east, and birds began to twitter in the treetops. 
Then the panther entered a wood. As it had been 
captured when a kitten, it had never seen anything 
like this before, but it was fresh and cool, and be- 
sides it was dark and there were plenty of places to 
hide, so the great cat was well pleased with his new 
discovery, and thereafter kept to the woods. 

It was about a week after the accident on the 
bridge, and the escape of Chieftain from the van, 
that Stubby Daggit was going for the cows, just as 
he had done for the last six or seven years. 

There would seem to be little relation between 
Stubby and the cows, and the great circus cat, for 
that dread animal had escaped some twenty-five 
miles from the village where Stubby lived. Though 
the woods had been scoured for days, nothing could 
be found of him. So every one had concluded that 
the panther by some inborn instinct was working his 



188 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

way northward toward the wilderness that its kind 
had frequented ever since the days of the red man. 

Stubby was not handsome. You will guess this 
when I tell you that his other nickname was 
Si Freckles " ; but he had an honest countenance, 
and any boy in the village would tell you that he 
was clear grit, from the top of his tow-head, to the 
bottom of his bare brown feet. 

The cows gave him considerable trouble this 
night, for he had to go to the further end of the 
pasture, into a maple grove for them. They acted 
rather strangely, too, he thought ; for they started 
uneasily every time he struck at the weeds by the 
side of the path with his birch rod. 

just at the edge of the woods was a spreading 
maple that overhung the path, and here they 
jammed up in a bunch, refusing to go under the 
tree. 

"Whey, there, what are you doing?" cried Stubby, 
switching the hind cows with his birch. These 
pressed forward, and the cows ahead broke into a 
trot, going under the maple at a good pace. 

Then a long, lithe figure dropped from the tree, 
like a thunderbolt from a cloudless sky, and with a 
snarl that froze the blood in Stubby's veins, dug its 
claws in the sides of the foremost cow, while its 
teeth were buried in her neck. Stubby's first 
thought was of the escaped panther. 

With a frenzied bellow of pain and fright, the old 



THE GREAT CIRCUS CAT 189 

cow broke into a keen gallop, and almost before 
Stubby knew what had happened the herd was ten 
rods away, going for the barn like stampeded steers. 

Then Stubby thought of his own safety, and he 
started for the barn as though the panther had been 
upon his trail instead of the old cow's back. He 
was taking a short cut home, parallel to the path 
the cows were following, so he could still hear their 
wild bellows and rapid hoof-beats, all of which lent 
energy to his sturdy legs. Over knolls and stones 
he bounded, as though running the race for life. 

Half-way to the barn he mounted a stone wall, 
and gave one frightened glance backwards, to see 
if the panther had left the cows, for his own trail 

Then he saw a very strange thing, that both 
amazed and delighted him. The cows, in their 
headlong rush for the barn, had reached the same 
stone wall that he stood upon, and were about to 
pass through a pair of bars, which had been left 
down, with the exception of the top bar, that the 
cows passed under easily. 

As they swept through the barway like a whirl- 
wind, the top bar caught the great cat under the 
chin, and brushed him off the old cow's back as 
though he had been a fly, while the herd galloped 
on with new energy. 

Stubby waited to see no more, but jumping from 
the wall, made the sprint of his life to the house. 

A moment later he burst into the dining-room, 



i 9 o WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

where the family were at supper, and, wild-eyed and 
speechless, sank exhausted on the floor. 

As soon as he could speak, he gasped out his 
story to an amazed family circle. 

Stubby's father at once went to the barn, where 
the lacerated sides of old Crinklehorn told plainly 
that his story was only too true. 

There was great excitement in the village that 
evening when Stubby's adventure was related at the 
country store, and a hunt was planned for the next 
day that should rid the neighborhood of this furious 
beast. 

Old shotguns that had not been fired for years 
were pressed into service, heavily loaded with buck- 
shot or slugs. 

To his father's astonishment, Stubby declared his 
intention to go with the hunting party. 

"Gracious, boy ! " exclaimed his father. " Didn't 
you get panther enough last night to last you twenty- 
four hours?" But secretly he was pleased with his 
son's pluck. 

" Don't go, Herbert," pleaded his mother; "you 
will be eaten alive." 

" I guess there w r on't nothin' happen to him if he 
sticks close to me," put in the boy's father. " I've 
got the old shotgun loaded with four slugs in each 
barrel, and I guess there won't no panther eat us 
up. Better let him go, mother." So Herbert's 
mother gave her unwilling consent. 



THE GREAT CIRCUS CAT 191 

" Guess I'll take along my pocket rifle," said 
Stubby. " I'll feel safer with it." 

" Might as well try to shoot a rhinoceros with a 
popgun, as a panther with that thing," said his fa- 
ther. But the boy slipped the little .22-caliber rifle 
under his coat and went with the hunting party. 

They had planned to beat the woods where the 
panther had appeared the night before, just as they 
do in India for tigers. So the party was strung out 
in a long line, each man two or three rods from his 
neighbor, and in this way they swept the woods 
from end to end. It was a new experience for most 
of them, and each man went with his gun cocked, 
and his heart in his mouth. The timid hunters in- 
sisted in making a great shouting, and the coura- 
geous said it was to frighten the panther away, for 
fear that they would see him. 

As for Stubby, his nerves tingled so that he 
doubted if he could even hit the tree containing the 
panther, let alone hitting the beast if he should see 
him. 

The forenoon was very hot, and it was hard work 
beating through the underbrush, so by noon they 
were a tired and disgusted lot. 

A council was then held, and it was decided to 
divide the party into two parts and one beat the 
neighboring woods while the remainder worked the 
maple grove still more. 

A hasty lunch was eaten, and they set to work again. 



192 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

By the middle of the afternoon the maple grove 
had been beaten from end to end, and the panther 
certainly was not there. So while others of the party 
went into a little swampy run near by, Stubby sat 
under a big hemlock resting. 

They had barely gotten out of sight when the boy 
noticed a movement in the branches of another large 
hemlock near the one under which he sat. Then 
one of the green tufted boughs sprung down as 
though a heavy weight were upon it, opening a gap 
between it and the branch above, and what Stubby 
saw in the opening made his tongue cleave. to the 
roof of his mouth, and his heart pound away at his 
ribs as though it would break through them. For 
there, upon a large limb of the hemlock, with his 
hind legs well under him and resting against the 
trunk of the tree, was the great circus cat 

His tail was switching horribly, his fangs were 
bared as though for a snarl, and his eyes seemed to 
be measuring the distance between him and the boy. 

The moment his eyes met those of the panther, 
Stubby's gaze was held as though by some will 
stronger than his own. He could not move, he 
could not cry out, all he could do was to sit there 
and wait until the panther should spring. 

Cold sweat stood upon his brow, and he felt sick 
and faint. He thought of his mother's prophecy, 
that he would be eaten alive. It looked as though 
it would be fulfilled. 




THE PANTHER BENT LOWER ON THE LIMB. 



THE GREAT CIRCUS CAT 193 

He felt that his only safety lay in looking directly 
at the panther ; perhaps some one would discover 
them before it was too late. 

Seconds seemed like minutes, and the quarter of a 
minute that elapsed an hour. 

Then Stubby thought of his little pocket rifle that 
lay upon the grass beside him, and felt for it with 
one hand, still keeping his eye on the panther. 

But as his arm went down for the rifle, the panther 
bent lower on the limb. He was going to spring. 

Then with a quick motion Stubby raised the rifle 
to the level of his eye, and pressed the trigger. 
Then in a frenzy of fright he pitched the little rifle 
into the bush, and sprang to his feet. His nimble 
legs had saved him the night before, and might 
now. 

Then the body of the great cat shot like a black 
streak through the air, and fell heavily at his feet. 

Stubby's legs sank under his weight, and it grew 
very dark. 

The next thing he remembered, his father was 
bending over him, fanning him with his palm-leaf 
hat, while some one else was sprinkling brook-water 
in his face, from a wet handkerchief. He was not 
mortally wounded, as he at first thought, or even 
scratched, only his head was light, and things looked 
strange. 

After a few moments he was able to sit up and tell 
his story. 



194 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

" You say you fired at him with the popgun, did 
you?" asked Stubby's father. 

" Yes," replied the boy ; " I aimed right between 
his eyes, just as I have read about in books." 

" Made a mighty big sight of noise for a twenty- 
two," remarked some one in the crowd. 

"Wal, the panther's dead," said Stubby's father, 
" and I don't see but the boy's bullet did it." 

" Look at this here wound," said another. " Bul- 
let went in just behind the shoulder, square through 
the heart, and came out the other side. Don't look 
like a twenty-two either. That warn't no popgun 
that did that." 

"Where is old Ben Wilson, from over to Edge- 
wood?" asked some one in the party. "He knows 
all about such things ; he can tell what kind of a 
bullet made the hole." 

A shout went around for Ben, but he was nowhere 
to be found. 

Then one of the Basset boys said, " I vum ! " and 
slapped his side. 

" I have it," he cried. " I just saw Ben myself, 
sorter skulking off through the woods toward home, 
and if I ain't mightily mistaken Ole Kentucky was 
still a smokin'. Anyhow I saw Ben lift the hammer, 
and throw away the cap, an' he wouldn't have done 
that if it had been a good one." 

Here then was the secret of the mystery. Ben 
had happened along just in time to see Stubby's 



SIGNS IN THE SNOW 195 

plight, and had rescued him by a lucky shot with 
his famous hunting rifle that he called " Ole Ken- 
tuck." 

To make sure that this was the case, a committee 
was at once sent to interview Ben. But, to their 
great astonishment, that quiet old man would say 
nothing about it, either one way or the other. 

"We want to give you a vote of thanks and the 
skin," said the chairman. "Now tell us, did you 
kill the panther?" 

" Can't say as I did," replied Ben. " I hain't seen 
no dead panther. 'Twould be mighty hard to say. 
There ain't nothin' sure in this world, 'ceptin' death 
and taxes. But you folks just go back an' ask Stubby 
about it. He got the panther's eye and I didn't. 

" Mebbe he winked at him. You just ask Stubby." 



Signs in the Snow 

OLD Ben and I were tramping along in the deep 
snow, " going Injun file," as he expressed it, on our 
way to the woods. 

He was ahead, and as he was a sort of pathfinder, 
and prophet of the woods, in my eyes, I was stepping 
in his tracks, although they were rather too far apart 
for comfort. I wished to be considered a pathfinder 
and a woodsman myself, so I would not have ad- 
mitted that the steps were too long for me, if I had 



i 9 6 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

fallen by the way. Even though the stride was long, 
it was easier going in this way because Ben's big 
boot made a good track in which I could follow 
lightly. 

" When there is snow on the ground," said Ben, 
as we crunched along, "there ain't a four-footed 
creature in the woods or out of it, for that matter, but 
tells you all his business whenever he goes any- 
where. 

" It is as interestin' to poke around the woods in 
the winter and see what our four-footed friends are 
doin', as it is to stay at home and read stories about 
them, and rather more so. For out here in the 
woods you can see for yourself, and besides, a great 
many things that you read in books are not more 
than half true. But a track never lies, and the best 
way is to see for yourself. 

" Now, Harry," continued Ben in his accustomed 
way of drawing me out, " what would you say could 
be learned from tracks ? " 

" Why, that something had been along," I replied. 

Ben whistled. "Is that all? Scratch your head, 
boy, and try again." 

" If you knew the different kinds of tracks, you 
could tell whether it was a fox or a rabbit, but I 
should think that was all," I said. 

" I am afeered you will hev to rub up them woods- 
man's specks a bit," said Ben, "if you are going to 
get on in finding out about the wild things. There 



SIGNS IN THE SNOW 197 

are four or five things that every track tells you as 
soon as you clap eyes on it. If you know how to 
read tracks, it doesn't matter whether it's a rabbit's 
tracks or a fox's, it is all the same. 

11 You can tell which way the animal was going, 
how long ago he passed, if he was in a hurry, if he 
was a large or small creature of the kind, and many 
times you will detect peculiarities in the particular 
animal that others of his kind don't have." 

I opened my eyes wide with astonishment. I had 
not believed it was possible to learn so many things 
merely from a track, but / knew it must be true, for 
Ben had said so, - and it made me all eagerness to 
find out about it so that I might confound the rest 
of the boys with my knowledge. 

" Wal, we don't want to be in a hurry," continued 
my companion. " There ain't ever anything gained 
by being in a hurry in the woods. Ten to one you 
won't see what you are after if you are in a hurry. 
I suppose the science of tracks was carried further 
by the Indians than any other people. They de- 
pended upon it to find out all about their enemies, 
as well as the animals they hunted. The tracks of 
folks are harder to read than those of animals, be- 
cause they are shod alike, while the wild creatures 
leave their naked footprints. Besides, men all travel 
something alike, while the wild things have a differ- 
ent way of traveling. The rabbit hops, the fox trots 
when he is not in a hurry, and the cat tribe jump. 



198 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

" I think we had better begin by learning the dif- 
ferent tracks, and then we will observe each par- 
ticularly. 

" See that T shaped track under this laurel bush, 
with four paw-prints in a bunch. That is a rabbit 
track, and there ain't no other animal in the woods 
that makes that kind of a track. The gray rabbits 
and the white ones make the same kind of a track, 
only the gray rabbit's track is smaller. He usually 
lives in the spruces at the edge of the woods, while 
the white rabbit likes the laurel swamp and lives near 
it. You see when the rabbit hops, and one fore paw 
comes just behind the other, just as a horse's for- 
ward hoofs go when he gallops, that gives us the 
two paw-prints that make the shank of the T. Then 
his hind paws he spreads out, making the top of the 
T. So you see the shank of the T always points in 
the direction the rabbit is going. If the jumps are 
far apart the rabbit is in a hurry, or if the hind paw- 
prints are well up to the forward ones that means the 
same thing, but the track usually is a perfect T. 

" The track of a fox is even and measured without 
he is in a hurry, and even then it is about the same, 
for he is an easy-going fellow, and particular about 
his gait. His track is often taken for that of a small 
dog or a large cat, but there are certain signs about 
it that a woodsman always knows. The footprint is 
depressed more at the front than that of a dog or 
cat, showing that the fox stands well up, on his toes ; 



SIGNS IN THE SNOW 199 

and touches the ground lightly. The pads of the 
paw are not as noticeable as in the track of a dog, 
the foot being furred ; and last of all, the track usually 
makes of! straight across the country, as though the 
fox was goin' somewhere, which is the case. A 
young fox will play like a kitten, but an old fox goes 
methodically about his business with a good plan in 
his crafty head. 

"Occasionally you will see a scraggly track, 
near some bush or stone. Each footprint has four 
strokes leading out from a center. It looks so much 
like the tracks the hens make about the yard after 
the first snow that you will readily guess what made 
it. It is a partridge. Maybe there is a blur in the 
snow where his wings struck when he started to fly. 

" There are also the prints of small mischievous 
feet on the tops of the walls and fences, where some 
red squirrel has warmed himself, by taking a morn- 
ing run. 

" The grayer is scarcely ever seen in the winter, 
but Chippy occasionally comes out of his hole to see 
how the winter is gettin' along, and if there are any 
signs of spring. 

" Sometimes you will see a wee bit of a track run- 
ning out from under a stone, going a few feet, and 
returnin' to the hole it came from. Some inquisitive 
mouse has been forth, to see what was doin' in the 
world outside 

" But most of the wild things keep as close as 



200 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

possible in the winter, staying in sheltered places, 
among spruces or pines, while some come to the 
house and share the outbuildings with man. If you 
encourage them to come you can have a fine little 
managerie all winter long." 

" I should think lots of them would freeze, and 
starve in the winter," I said. " Do they all get 
through safely ? " 

" More than you would think, Harry," replied my 
friend ; " but it ain't all pie an' cake in the woods 
either, for if the rabbit is hungry, so is the fox and 
the owl, and they both have their eye on the cotton- 
tail. Mebbe it happens when he and a score of his 
friends are playing tag in the moonlight I hev 
often seen um, racin' an' chasin', hevin' the finest 
kind of games. Then a swift lithe figure would flash 
through the underbrush, and before they knew, it 
was right among them. Then there was a race for 
blood. Out an' in they would rush, pell-mell, till 
them wicked jaws closed upon the soft fur, then a 
cry for all the world like that of a baby would startle 
the woods with heart-breaking pathos, an 5 then all 
would be quiet, without you heard the crunchm' of 
bones in the thicket near by. 

" It is mighty strange how much the cry of a rabbit 
sounds like that of a baby. Fust time I heard it I 
spent more'n half an hour lookin' for the baby that 
I thought some one had been mean enough to leave 
in the woods." 



SIGNS IN THE SNOW 201 

"What was it that got the rabbit that time ? " I 
asked. 

" Why, Reynard. He hunts all winter long, and 
many a bloody trail he leaves in the woods. Some- 
times it is strewn with partridge feathers, or mebbe 
it is the white fur of the cottontail. Mebbe he is 
sittin' by his own doorway, under a bunch of laurel, 
watchin' the moonlight on the snow and thinking 
what he would do if it was gone. 

" The wind sings a weird song in the leafless forest 
and the snow and the silver moonlight give things 
a sickly, ghastly look, but the rabbit does not mind 
that, for the laurel swamp is his home. Then a 
feathered form, swift and silent as death, swoops 
down out of the top of a spruce, where it had been 
completely hidden by the dark plumes. Before the 
rabbit has time to even look up and see what makes 
the shadow on the snow, the talons of an owl are 
buried in his neck. Then the night woods are again 
startled by that piteous cry. The struggle is short 
and desperate, but the owl has too good a hold, and 
he is too hungry to let his prey ofT easily, so in a few 
seconds he flies away with his supper. 

" Perhaps the next night, when the stars prick 
through the steely sky, to see what man is about, 
there is a tawny gray bunch on the upper side of a 
fallen tree trunk. The tree does not lie upon the 
ground but is held up some six or eight feet, by the 
limbs on the under side of the trunk. What is it, do 



202 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

you suppose ? It matches so well with the gray oi 
the tree trunk, and the general sober tint of the 
leafless brown woods, that it attracts little attention; 
it is probably a burl, or almost anything without life, 

" But don't be too sure that this motionless bunch 
has not got life. If you look carefully you will see 
two square-topped ears lying close to the head, and 
two burning eyes, that devour the rabbit path which 
runs under the fallen tree trunk. It is a wildcat and 
he too is looking for supper. 

" Now he crouches lower to the log if possible, and 
his eyes burn even more fiercely. You did not hear 
anything, but he did ; it is coming this way. Under- 
neath that gray bunch of soft fur are quivering mus- 
cles, and cushioned in those velvet paws are the worst 
set of claws in the woods. As slight as the forearm 
is, one blow of that paw would kill the strongest fox- 
hound that ever followed scent. 

"There is a patter in the snow, and Mr. Cotton- 
tail comes hopping along, his ears erect. He is on 
his way to visit a neighbor. Then the muscles in 
the gray bunch tighten, and the cat springs. 

" There is no outcry this time, for the rabbit's 
back is broken at the first bite." 

We had stopped to rest at a pile of cord-wood, 
which made a convenient seat, while Ben told me of 
what was doing in the woods of a winter's night. 
Presently he caught my expression, which must have 
been solemn, and began laughing. 



SIGNS IN THE SNOW 203 

" Sorter hard life, ain't it, Harry ? " he said cheer- 
fully, " but that ain't all. For some fine morning men 
will come with hounds, and then the woods will be 
filled with the baying of dogs and the roar of shot- 
guns. 

" But don't you think for a moment, boy, that the 
rabbit don't hev a good time in his way, but it ain't 
the way of folks. I hain't a doubt but what he takes 
as much sport playing tag in the woods as you do 
in the schoolyard, while as for being gobbled up by 
a cat or an owl only a few of them go that way, 
when we think of all there are in the woods. Be- 
sides, it is their life. They are born to it It is as 
much their game to match their cunning agin that 
of the fox or the hawk, as it is man's to battle for 
bread, or boy's to play football. Life is a battle 
whatever way you consider it. It ain't alius strength 
that wins either, but wit goes a mighty long ways. 
Why, there is the partridge, he ain't no match for 
hawks or owls in a fight, but he has got wits, and 
they keep him out of the way of his enemies, and I 
rather imagine that he enjoys slipping out of one 
side of a cover when the owl comes flopping in at 
the other. 

" Then there is the fox, swift and sly as he is, yet 
many a time he goes without his supper, because his 
prey has either wings or wits. 

"So after all, Harry, you see the Maker of the 
sparrow and the hawk has given each powers that 



20 4 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

the other does not possess, and in the struggle for 
existence, that always has raged in the woods, and 
always will, they are pretty evenly matched, for the 
race is not always to the t swift or the battle to the 
strong." 



Signs of the Seasons 

A HAPPY, barefooted boy was spanking along a 
country road, doing what Old Ben called observing 
the signs of the times. 

" Alius be a lookin' out for what's coming," that 
wise old man had told him. " If spring is here, 
summer is coming. If autumn is with us, look out 
for winter. An' I don't mean by that not to enjoy 
the season that we have to the full, for this particular 
season will never come again. There will never be 
another summer or winter just like this one, so en- 
joy it while it lasts. But what I mean is, be on the 
lookout for the changes. Learn to forestall the wind 
and the weather, and let no season steal a march on 
you. If some morning winter comes howling down 
upon you, be able to tell him : ' You didn't fool me, 
old chap, I have seen you coming for days, and you 
made yesterday so fine just to try and fool me.' " 

So this barefooted boy, as he scampered along the 
country road, was observing the oncoming spring. 

Spring always made him feel glad. Just as the 



SIGNS OF THE SEASONS 205 

flowers under the sod felt its touch, so did the boy's 
heart. Something of the bird-song that thrilled the 
woods was in his voice. 

The particular thing that he was enjoying now 
was the delicious fragrance of swamp pink, that 
came stealing mysteriously out of the woods. He 
never could understand how it was that a plant 
could give away so much of itself in odor, and still 
seem to have just as much left, but Ben had told 
him that it was just so with folks. That the more 
kindness any one gave the more he had to give. 

This boy would not have believed it if you had 
told him a year before that there was so much to 
enjoy in simply walking to school, but his walks and 
talks with Ben had taught him many things, some 
of them more valuable than the lessons he learned 
in the schoolhouse. 

Now, if he saw a robin flying across the road with 
a worm in his mouth, he at once pictured the nest 
and the little ones with mouths outstretched, ready 
for breakfast, and somehow the nest-robbing instinct 
had gone out of him. He had always remembered 
what Ben had told him. " For every egg that you 
take from the nest there will be one less bird to sing 
to you the coming summer." 

This morning he had seen some queer little tracks 
by the brookside, and had followed them down into 
the swale, to be rewarded by rinding a muskrat's 
house. On the way back to the road he had 



206 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

snapped a pebble into a ripple, and a beauty of a 
trout had jumped for it as he had hoped. 

By the roadside he had stopped for checkerberries 
and partridge berries, while a spruce had yielded up 
gum enough for both him and his fellows. 

A squirrel had winked at him as he passed under 
the tree on which it sat, and this had made him feel 
like one of the Wood Folks. 

A flicker had been sounding his lively rat-a-tat-tat 
on a dead limb and it was always pleasant to hear 
this merry woodchopper. 

So you see this morning walk was full of wonders, 
and the boy had been able to enjoy them because of 
Old Ben's training. 

Presently he left the woods behind and came out 
into open mowings, where there was an apple orchard 
on one side of the road, and corn stubble on the 
other. They were ploughing the stubble to-day, 
and the earth looked mellow and inviting. A score 
of birds had taken the ploughman at his word, and 
were helping themselves in a bounteous manner. 
Prominent among them were robins and purple 
grackles. 

Then high and clear above all the other sounds of 
oncoming spring that filled the morning the boy 
heard a sound new to his ears. 

Strong, steady, and full. 

" Honk, honk, honk ! " 

He looked in the treetops and across the fields, 




HONK, HONK, HONK! 



SIGNS OF THE SEASONS 207 

first in this direction and then in that, but nothing 
could he see that should make such a strange 
sound. 

But still the sound went on, steady and measured 
as before, " Honk, honk, honk ! " 

It seemed to be coming nearer. Then he got 
upon the wall, and his eager eyes swept the sky in 
every direction. Away to the south, he saw a long 
procession of something that looked about the size 
of a flock of sparrows. They were up very high, 
and coming directly toward him. 

But while he watched, the birds grew steadily 
larger, and he saw that the procession was wedge- 
shaped, the two sides of the wedge trailing out far 
behind. 

On, on the flock came, flying strong and steady. 
Their flight was as straight as an arrow, and re- 
minded one of the furrow that an ocean liner might 
leave on the deep. They were probably steering by - 
some lake or river miles away, and did not care to 
make even slight turns. When they cared to change 
their course they would haul a point to the east or 
west, and the casual observer on the green earth 
below would not notice the difference. 

On, on they came, like the wind, sweeping the 
heavens in matchless flight, all the time pealing the 
slogan of lake or river. " Honk, honk, honk ! " 
Their heads were thrust forward like race horses, 
and their legs were held well back under them to 



208 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

escape the rush of wind. " Ninety miles an hour ! " 
thought the boy. Why, the first hoarse cry that 
signaled the start upon this flight might have been 
given last evening, upon the banks of the Chatta- 
hoochee, or along the marshy sedges of some lagoon 
in the Everglades of Florida. The fastest express 
train would have barely reached Washington, while 
this tireless squadron was swinging over the hills 
and valleys of Massachusetts at a rate that would 
cross the entire State from south to north, in. less 
than an hour. The express train would pufl, roar, 
and hiss, and every few score miles, would stop to 
rest its heated bearings and oil its joints. But this 
magnificent machine neither puffed nor paused. 
There was no hissing or snorting, only that steady 
stroke of tireless wings, and the wild cry of " Honk, 
honk, honk !" 

The slogan of the waterfowls grew fainter and 
fainter as they swept on, until it was lost in the dis- 
tance. But the boy still watched the threadlike line 
that hung for a few seconds on the northern horizon, 
and then vanished altogether. When it had entirely 
disappeared, he heaved a deep sigh and rubbed his 
eyes, which were tired with straining after the flying 
harrow. Then he slowly got down from the wall, 
and trudged on to school, but there was a serious 
look on his face, and he felt something almost akin 
to reverence for the beauties and mysteries of nature ; 
something of that awe which the mariner feels as he 



A TWENTY-DOLLAR COAT 209 

guides his bark under the starless sky, across black 
waters, merely by the chart and compass. 

Fragments of the beautiful poem that he had 
learned to recite the last day of the term before came 
unbidden to his lips : 

Whither 'midst falling dew, 
While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, 
Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue 

Thy solitary way ? 

Vainly the fowler's eye 
Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, 
As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, 

Thy figure floats along. 
****** 

All day thy wings have fanned, 
At that far height, the cold thin atmosphere, 
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, 

Though the dark night is near. 
****** 

He who, from zone to zone, 
Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, 
In the long way that I must tread alone 

Will lead my steps aright. 



A Twenty-Dollar Coat 

WHEN I was a barelegged, freckle-faced boy, 
going to school at the little brick schoolhouse down 
in the Hollow (pronounced Holler by the country 
people), there were many things in earth and air 



210 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

that interested me. Many a hard nut, aside from 
those that rattled down from walnut or butternut 
trees, nature gave me to crack. Some of them came 
open after I had pounded my fingers many times, 
but others are mysteries to this day ; secrets that the 
human mind cannot see into or understand. 

The mere walking to and from school at morning 
and evening was like a pleasant book, whose pages 
I never tired of turning, for there was always some 
new story told by the changing seasons ; or, it was 
an old story that I had heard before, but in such a 
gay new dress that I did not recognize it. 

Close by the schoolhouse ran a little brook. It 
was so near that one could almost have thrown a 
hook into the water from one of the back windows. 
This stream was the daily companion of the boys 
and girls, and was really an essential part of the 
school life. I can hear it now as I write, gurgling 
and laughing, inviting one to forget Colburn's arith- 
metic, or how many bones there are in the human 
body, and just dream of fern-fringed, moss-covered 
banks, and deep pools where the trout loves to lie. 

A few rods above the schoolhouse was the old 
mill, now fallen into disuse, and covered with clem- 
atis and festooned with cobwebs and dust. 

But the quaint log dam, built like a child's cob 
house, still held water enough to make a very respect- 
able pond, large enough for skating and boating. 
The pond nestled just under a pine woods, and 



A TWENTY-DOLLAR COAT 211 

above the dark plumes of the firs was the ragged 
blue sky line. It was a restful, dreamy spot, where 
one could build air-castles and plan what to do when 
a man. The water was clear and the ice usually 
transparent, so that I have frequently seen two pine 
forests and two sky lines, one above, and the other 
under the ice in the clear water. 

There were other creatures, aside from the occu- 
pants of the brick schoolhouse, who were interested 
in the pond. This was made evident by many small 
tracks in the mud along the bank, and by two large 
muskrat houses at the upper end. But the pond was 
chiefly celebrated for a pair of otters that had made 
it their home for several seasons. 

The old mill greatly aided us boys in watching 
them, as we could enter on the opposite side from 
the pond, and observe these wary animals through 
the windows that overlooked the water. 

The otters' favorite shore was next to the pine 
woods, where we afterwards discovered that they had 
a burrow under the roots of an old tree. They were 
long, sleek animals, very graceful in the water, but 
more awkward on land. They were as playful and 
frolicsome as kittens, and had many romps upon the 
slippery, sloping banks. Their principal amusement 
was coasdng or sliding, and they seemed to have as 
much fun in it as any boy possessing the best of 
sleds. In the summer they slid down the slippery 
bank into the water. This coast was rather short, 



212 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

but in the winter they would run down the bank and 
slide on the ice nearly across the pond. They slid 
upon their breasts with the fore legs doubled up un- 
der them at either side, and the hind legs trailing. 
x-\s the legs of the otter are set well up on his sides, 
they are not in the way when he is sliding. 

One winter afternoon when we boys were skating 
on the pond, we discovered a large trout a foot or 
two below the ice, and all gathered round to admire 
it ; for what boy will not leave any kind of sport to 
feast his eyes on a trout. We were standing about, 
discussing whether trout slept in the winter or not, 
and how they sustained life, when a black streak 
shot under us. Where it came from or where it went 
we never knew. It moved so quickly that we could 
not tell what it was, but the great trout was gone. 

One June morning Billy Bowlegs, a simple farm 
boy in the neighborhood, shouldered an old shotgun, 
loaded with large shot, and started after crows which 
were making sad work in his father's corn. 

This was perfectly right and proper, but as ill for- 
tune would have it, Billy blundered upon the otters 
at play on the bank of the pond, and without a serious 
thought of what he was doing, raised the gun and 
fired. He probably would not have gone out of his 
way to have shot at the otters, for he knew their fur 
was not good at this time of the year, but there they 
were, and he had the gun in his hand, and before he 
realized it the mischief was done. It was neverthe- 



A TWENTY-DOLLAR COAT 213 

less a wicked act, and one that should always be 
punished. 

When the smoke from the old shotgun cleared 
away, both otters were seen to be hit. One was 
kicking in his last agony, and the other was quite 
dead. They had been in line and only a few rods 
away, and the large shot had done the rest. 

Rather shamefacedly Billy carried home the dead 
otters. At first he thought he would be a hero, but 
instead, every one called him a fool, and the sheriff 
threatened him with arrest. 

A day or two later it occurred to some one that 
there might be a litter of young otters somewhere in 
the bank, and half a dozen boys and men went to 
look for the burrow. At last they found it under the 
roots of an old pine, but it was necessary to dig it 
open from the top to see what it contained. Two 
little winking, blinking, otter pups were found, one 
of them too weak to do more than gasp, but the other 
had strength enough left to whine feebly. 

Ned Hawley claimed them, as he had first thought 
of looking for them, so he put them in his coat pock- 
ets and made all haste home. 

Milk, fed from a spoon, soon revived the small 
otter who had cried, but the other one was too far 
gone, and the next morning was dead. But the re- 
maining otter pup thrived upon clear milk, and later 
on bread and milk, and took to his new home and 
friends almost as though he had been a dog. His 



214 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

sturdiness and self-reliance, and the way that he had 
of getting out of all difficulties, with his fur whole, 
soon gained him the name of Trojan, and it is with 
Trojan that this story has to do. 

By midsummer Trojan was as large as a small cat, 
and as frolicsome as a kitten. His first aversion was 
for dogs, and when he was but four or five months 
old, he drove a puppy, twice his size, from the back 
room where he lived. 

His first love was fish, and he would even go to 
the cat's dish for that dainty, although he well knew 
the uncertainty of pussy's temper, and the very sharp 
arguments for her own rights, that she concealed in 
her velvet paws. Trojan knew all these things ; he 
had learned them by hard bites and scratches, but 
the smell of that fish was too much for him. Be- 
sides, why did they always give the fish heads to the 
cat, when he was so fond of them ? 

It was most interesting to watch Trojan's growth 
and his development of likes and dislikes. 

The old cat, whose milk dish he coveted, was tol- 
erated, but dogs he abhorred from his puppyhood. 
If they were too large for him to attack, he would 
slink under some bench or friendly shelter, and stand 
there eying the intruder with beady eyes, not for- 
getting to show his teeth and growl. His own char- 
acteristics were more those of the canine family whom 
he so hated, than those of the cat whom he rather 
liked. If, on the other hand, the dog was somewhere 



A TWENTY-DOLLAR COAT 215 

near his size, he at once gave battle, and he was so 
much more agile than his enemy, that he usually got 
the better of his canine foe and drove him away dis- 
comfited. 

He early learned that water was his natural ele- 
ment, and always when too hard pressed would take 
refuge in a ditGh in the meadows at the back of the 
house. The water was never very deep in the ditch, 
but it was overgrown with lush grass, and made 
splendid cover. 

By the first autumn Trojan had attained about 
one-third his full growth, and his coat was sleek and 
glossy. 

The first winter he accidentally learned the art of 
sliding, and after that he would play at it for an hour 
at a time with as much zest as a child. He was 
lying upon the banking at the back of the house. 
There was a glare of crust and he slipped from his 
place, and went sliding, tail first, down into the 
meadow. This so pleased him that he tried it again. 
He soon discovered that it was pleasanter to go head 
first, then he could see where he was going. After 
he had taken the slide he was all eagerness to return 
to the starting place, and would scramble back at his 
greatest speed. 

He also learned to give himself a good strong 
shove with his hind legs when he started. This made 
the slide longer and swifter. He held his forelegs 
doubled back up under him, and his head just 



216 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

high enough to clear the glare crust. This was a 
sport he never tired of, even when he was five or six 
years old. 

No one ever knew just how he learned to fish. 
But the instinct was so strong within him, that he 
took to it, as a duck does to water. 

Sometimes the boys would come across him on 
the banks of a stream, when they would throw to 
him all the dace and red fins upon their stringers. 
Perhaps he was given the first brook fish, and saw 
that it was good, or maybe he went into the water 
and made the discovery all by himself. But this is 
certain, Trojan was a great fisherman. 

He never splashed or floundered about in the 
water like a dog, but his every movement was as 
silent and gliding as though the water had been air. 
He slipped into the stream smoothly and silently, 
and when he appeared on shore, there was very 
little ripple or splash. 

He would pick up a sucker in a straight-away 
swim as easily as he would a stick. River dace and 
perch were also easy for him to take. Quite fre- 
quently too, he surprised a large trout that would be 
sunning standing with his head up stream gently 
fanning the water with his fins, 

I do not know how he managed it, for the trout 
can move through the water so fast that the eye can 
scarcely follow him, but it was probably by stealth. 
Maybe he was lying in the shallow water with his 




HE WOULD PICK UP A SUCKER AS EASILY AS HE WOULD A STICK. 



A TWENTY-DOLLAR COAT 217 

nose just showing above the surface, looking for all 
the world like an old log, when the trick was done. 

He always brought his catch on shore and held it 
between his paws, as a dog would a bone, while he 
ate it. 

The second autumn, the long hairs that sprinkle 
the pelt of the otter, giving it a ragged appearance 
before it is plucked, appeared. But the fur was 
wonderfully soft and luxuriant A coat that any 
four-footed creature might well be proud of. 

But Trojan was probably all unconscious of how 
his warm coat was coveted by man. All he knew 
was that it fitted him well, and was warm and alto- 
gether suited to his needs e 

When he was fully grown he was a beautiful speci- 
men of our most valuable fur-bearing animal, measur- 
ing nearly four feet from tip to tip. Of this two and 
a half feet was head and body, and sixteen inches tail. 

The tail was not so bushy as that of a fox, yet it 
was well furred, and quite ornamental. His body 
was round and lithe. His head was rather small and 
a little flattened. His ears were small and nestled 
so closely in his fur that you had to look twice to see 
them. The entrance was guarded by a fur-covered 
water pad, with which he could close his ear at will, 
and keep it entirely dry inside. His visage was 
quite whiskery, especially when he was angry. 

Trojan's most memorable battle with dogs was 
that in which he stood off two, each larger than him- 



218 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

self, with scarcely a scratch upon his sleek coat, 
while both dogs were badly chewed. 

The otter's cage or den stood in a corner between 
the main house and the ell. It was a cute little 
house, three or four feet high with iron bars, and a 
swing door at the front. At first Trojan had been 
confined in this house, but finally he was left to go 
and come as he pleased. 

Once dogs came upon him when he was eating a 
fish head, and though he was not prepared for them, 
he backed up into a corner near his house, and did 
battle like his namesakes. 

At first he merely contented himself with keeping 
them at bay, but by degrees his love of battle got 
the better of him and he went in for blood. 

His snake-like head and long neck shot out like a 
flash, and he nipped a piece out of one of his assail- 
ant's ears. Finally they closed upon him, thinking 
to take his citadel by storm, but he bounded lightly 
over their backs, leaving his mark as he went, and. 
took refuge in another corner. Then he caught one 
of his antagonists by the gristle of the nose, and the 
poor canine's yelps of pain soon brought men to the 
scene, and the battle was stopped. After this the 
dogs gave the otter a wide berth. 

The fourth year of his domesticated life, Trojan 
made himself a burrow on the bank of a famous trout 
stream that ran through the meadow, a quarter of a 
mile from the house. This burrow was located under 



A TWENTY-DOLLAR COAT 219 

the roots of a water elm, and had two entrances, one 
above the water and one beneath. 

This was a safeguard against having his retreat 
cut off. If an enemy appeared above the ground he 
could disappear beneath the water. If the enemy 
came from the water door, he would flee through 
the other. But there was no quadruped that swam 
in New England waters that Trojan feared. 

As he grew older the tendency to return to his 
wild haunts grew upon him, and he made frequent 
long trips along the water courses in the neighbor- 
hood. We boys would occasionally come across 
him two or three miles from home. He was not 
companionable at such times, but always slunk 
away as though he did not want us to see him. 
But he never quite forgot his little house with the 
swing door, and the fish head that was usually 
awaiting him at the hand of his good friends. 

There are many stories still told at the brick house 
of this strangely domesticated wild creature, who in 
his tamed state is so nearly like a dog. But the 
most celebrated of all his capers cost me a split 
bamboo trout rod, and my reputation as the crack 
boy fisherman of the neighborhood. 

An argument arose one day as to which of us 
boys was the better angler, and it was finally decided 
to test it by a day's fishing. Each boy was to go 
when and where he pleased on a certain day, and 
we would meet at night and compare our catches. 



220 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

The morning of our fishing contest, I was astir 
bright and early, and by half-past five was hurrying 
through the meadows, dragging a home-made hick- 
ory fish-pole after me in the grass. It was an ideal 
day for trout, just a little overcast, and not too 
warm. 

The speckled beauties bit that morning as though 
I had been the only eager fisherman in the world, 
and that the only day in which they could bite. By 
noon I had about forty as pretty trout as ever made 
a boy's eyes dance. 

The stringer upon which I was carrying my fish 
was rather large, and occasionally a fish tore out at 
the gills, and fell off. To remedy this difficulty I 
concluded to leave this string in some place, and 
get it on my return down stream. It was a careless 
thing to do, but I was at the careless age, so I pulled 
a handful of brakes and wrapped the trout in them, 
and thrust them in a hollow log, marking the spot 
carefully by a little waterfall. There would be no 
mistaking it when I returned. 

I was gone about three hours, stopping for lunch, 
and took ten or fifteen more trout, and felt sure that 
the split bamboo was mine, for my catch now num- 
bered over fifty fish. 

When I returned to the old log for the first string, 
my suspicion was at once aroused, for the brakes in 
which I had wrapped the trout were scattered about, 
and there was a fish head on the ground near by. I 



A TWENTY-DOLLAR COAT 221 

thrust my arm further and further into the cavity, 
but could find no fish. 

Then I began examining the dirt about the log, 
and made out the clean-cut footprints of an otter. 
Trojan, was the word that came instinctively to my 
lips. Trojan, Trojan, how could you have done such 
a thing? And as I looked at my remaining string 
visions of the new rod that had been so bright a few 
moments before, grew dim. 

I found the willow switch on which the fish had 
been strung, a few rods further down the stream, 
and there were several fish heads scattered about. 
Half a mile further down I came upon the otter lying 
on a rock in the middle of the stream. 

When he saw me he slipped into the water, and 
went swiftly away. When I returned home, he was 
lying in the further end of his cage, saying plainly 
by his actions, " I did not steal your fish." 

My last meeting with Trojan was so pathetic, that 
I forgave him the theft of my trout and remembered 
him only as one of the most engaging domesticated 
wild animals that I ever knew. 

I was hunting woodcock with a boy friend. The 
birds had come in the night before, and were very 
plenty. Our old liver-colored pointer Dan was doing 
good service, and we were having quite a day of it. 

We were going through some heavy cover near a 
brook, when I noticed a queer movement in a clump 
of willows, and went nearer to investigate. 



222 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

I could hardly believe my eyes when I beheld 
Trojan, the pet of the neighborhood, tugging and 
straining in a trap. This in itself would not have 
been so bad, but he was in a sorry plight. 

He had torn out several of his front teeth on the 
trap, and had broken his leg so badly that the jagged 
end of the bone showed through the ragged and torn 
flesh. His eyes were large with pain, and his whole 
aspect was most pitiful. He had seen me and had 
made frantic efforts to attract my attention, probably 
thinking that I could at once put him right 

But no human skill could have mended that jagged 
paw, and I knew that Trojan's case was hopeless. 

I was just considering what was the best way of 
putting him out of his misery and wishing there was 
some one else to do it, when the alder bushes parted, 
and old Tom Knowland looked in upon me. Tom 
was a famous trapper, and the trap on Trojan's fore 
paw was his. 

" Hello," he said, not seeing the otter. " Seen 
anything of one of my traps walking off with a good 
heavy clog? Must be something big in it." 

" You old fool," I replied, forgetting my manners 
in my sorrow. " You have caught Trojan." 

" Trojan, Trojan," repeated Tom, in astonishment. 
"By Ginger, that's too bad. Too durn bad. I'll 
let him go." 

"It won't do any good," I replied, "he's too done 
up, you'd better kill him." 



THE PEOPLE OF FROG-HOLLOW 223 

Then I hurried away, not wishing- to look behind. 
Through milkweed and brambles I pushed, with a 
reckless ferocity. The sun still shone brightly, but 
somehow it looked dim and sorrowful. I did not 
care if there were more woodcock in the cover, for 
something had already happened in the alder-bushes 
yonder, that had put the day out of joint for me. 



The People of Frog-Hollow 

There is one event in the calendar of oncoming- 
spring that the country people always heed ; and 
that is the first peeping of the hyla, the smallest and 
bravest of all the frogs, who pipes in the shrillest of 
voices, " Spring, Spring, Spring." 

When the farm boy hears that first shrill peeping 
from the meadow land, or the swale, it is a signal to 
him that one portion of the winter's labor is over, 
and that is the sugar season. All good sugar makers 
know that after this faithful sign from the little green 
folks down in the meadows, that it will be useless to 
keep out the sap pails any longer. So the wood- 
shod sled goes its rounds through the sugar-bush 
for the last time, and pails are gathered, washed and 
put away in readiness for next year, and all because 
the little green prophets down in the meadow have 
given the signal 

Frog-Hollow, where these little frog folks lived. 



224 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

was a strip of lowland bordering a lonely country 
road, that my bare feet traveled daily during the 
school terms, and less frequently in summer time. 

To my childish fancy Frog-Hollow was peopled 
with hobgoblins and phantoms, as well as frogs. I 
had never seen any of these apparitions, but I had 
seen strange will-o'-the-wisps, and that was almost 
as bad. When a pillar of fire, like that which guided 
the Israelites, traveled about the meadows, un- 
aided, such soil was no place for a small boy after 
dark. 

In addition to all this, I was not quite sure but 
that our own Frog-Hollow and the " Sleepyhollow " 
in Irving' s Sketch Book were not one and the same 
place. It certainly answered the description nicely. 
So I might meet the headless Andre, almost any 
night, riding upon his black charger, in search of his 
head. 

From all these childish imaginings, you will see 
that Frog-Hollow was a strange and awesome place 
and a region to be shunned after dark. 

Many a night I have stood upon the little bridge 
just where the bog was deepest, listening to the old 
familiar frog song from which the place was named. 

This was in the gloaming, while the afterglow still 
lighted the western sky, but when the first bright 
star pricked through the dusky sky near the horizon, 
I fled from the awful mysteries that hung over the 
swamp. 



THE PEOPLE OF FROG-HOLLOW 225 

Down in the swamp by the edge of the road, 

When the lamps of night appear, 
When the water is high and the meadows are flowed, 

A wonderful chorus I hear. 
O the hylas cry Peep, but the bullfrogs down deep, 
Shout, Holler, Frog-Holler, Frog-Holler. 

O all through the night, of the early Spring, 

When the buds are beginning to swell, 
You may hear the frogs and the hylas sing, 

And a wonderful legend they tell, 
For the hylas cry Peep, but the bullfrogs down deep, 
Shout, Holler, Frog-Holler, Frog-Holler. 

When the whip-poor-will sings, and the night-hawk 
on wings, 

As silent as footsteps of night, 
Is scouring the skies for small flying things, 

And the firefly is showing his light, 
Then the hylas cry Peep, but the bullfrogs down deep, 
Shout, Holler, Frog-Holler, Frog-Holler. 

When the small boy was sent for cowslips he al- 
ways swung a willow basket across his arm and 
started for Frog-Hollow. 

The sluggish little stream winding in and out 
among the cat-tails and water grasses, fringed with 
cranberry vines and mosses and choked with rushes 
and frog spittle was a famous place for cowslips. 

The monotony of picking cowslips was varied by 
many a pleasant surprise. Sometimes it was an old 
green bullfrog, sitting beneath a lily pad, still as a 
statue, contemplating the brook, with his grave frog 
interest. 



226 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

At other times he would be sitting on a stone, 
catching flies, or perhaps he was taking a sun-bath. 

He was a dignified, proud old fellow, always 
dressed in the tastiest manner. How well his green 
coat matches the green of the bank, and its reflection in 
the water and his yellow vest also was not easily seen. 

He never seemed to be much afraid of the boy, 
but any sudden motion on his part would send Mr. 
Frog to the bottom of the pool with a loud splash. 
You could always follow his course by a long muddy 
streak that he made in the water, and if you followed 
this to its end, you would see what looked at first 
like a small moss-covered stone, or the end of a 
stick, but if you looked more carefully you would 
make out Mr. Frog lying on the muddy bottom of 
the stream in snug hiding. 

There was also the grass frog who lived in the 
grass along the shore, and the beautiful spotted 
wood frog, who never went to the brook at all, 
except to spawn. 

Both of these were interesting, but the old green 
bullfrog was the boy's favorite. One summer after- 
noon the boy was sitting under an old water-elm, 
down in the pasture by the side of a deep pool. The 
pasture land was below Frog-Hollow, and here the 
stream was larger and clearer, and just by the elm 
the boy had dammed the stream, and he could oc- 
casionally catch bullheads here, if the day was not 
too clear, although they bit much better at night. 



THE PEOPLE OF FROG-HOLLOW 227 

But the bullheads had all gone to sleep to-day, 
and the boy leaned back against the trunk of the 
tree and dreamed a pleasant day-dream, while the 
waters flowed musically over the stones at his feet, 
and the silver-footed moments of the summer after- 
noon slipped silently by. 

What a fine thing it is to be a boy, the youngster 
thought, as he leaned comfortably against the tree, 
and looked across the pasture land to a distant herd 
of feeding cows. He could just hear the tinkle of 
old Speckle's bell, and it chimed in so nicely with 
the gurgle of the stream. A frog was croaking 
softly to himself in a distant pool, and his voice was 
sleepy and contented. How easy it was to dream, 
when all the world was dreaming too ! 

" Hello, what's up ? " called a frog almost at the 
boy's feet. These words had been spoken so plainly, 
although there was still the husky frog tone, that the 
boy started. 

When he at last made out his questioner in the 
pads so near that he could have poked him with his 
foot, the boy saw that the frog was smiling, and 
chuckling down in his yellow throat. 

"What's up?" repeated the old frog in his deep 
mellow voice. " I thought you did not look quite 
natural." 

"There isn't anything up that I know of," replied 
the boy sharply, for he thought the frog was making 
fun of him, and he did not like to be made fun of. 



228 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

He was reaching for a stick with which to poke 
this audacious fellow, when he chanced to look at 
his foot. His toes had suddenly become long and 
fibrous. In fact they were webbed, which gave them 
a queer feeling, as though they had all been tied 
together with a string, And the sole of his foot was 
shrunken. 

Then he glanced down at his leg. It, too, had 
shrunk, and instead of being covered with his brown 
overalls, was dressed in a tight-fitting pair of green 
pants. If the boy had been astonished on seeing 
his green pants, he was amazed at his yellow vest, 
which he discovered a moment later. 

His astonishment was so great that he barely 
saved himself from pitching into the pool. But the 
second that he leaned over the bank showed him a 
strange face in the water. He looked again to make 
sure. 

But there was no mistaking the reflection. It was 
that of a great green bullfrog, fat and complacent, 
and well suited with his dress and deportment. 

" Come down," said the frog, whom the boy had 
first noticed. 

"Get wet," croaked the boy, and to his amaze- 
ment his voice had a frog-like sound. " Get wet, get 
wet, what fun ! get wet, what sport !" The old frog 
was making fun of him again, so the boy jumped, 
cleaving the water with the familiar chug. 

He went down to the bottom of the pool as he 




HE WAS A DIGNIFIED PROUD OLD FELLOW. 



THE PEOPLE OF FROG-HOLLOW 229 

had so often seen frogs do, and buried himself in the 
mud, just letting his head stick out, where he was 
presently joined by the old frog who had made fun 
of him. 

How cool and sweet the water seemed, after the 
hot upper air of a summer afternoon. Grasses and 
lily-pads were growing all about them, but they 
looked misty and rather indistinct, seen through the 
water. 

The sky too, was a hazy blue, and nearly every- 
thing looked as though seen through colored glass. 

The boy had not got his frog eyes fully developed, 
but after a few minutes he saw more clearly. 

" Pretty slick, pretty slick," croaked the old frog, 
who had joined the new arrival at the bottom of the 
pool. 

The boy imagined that the frog referred to his 
new suit, which really did fit him well. So he 
croaked back, " Quite good, quite good." 

u Your suit matches grass, matches pads, so boys 
don't see," piped the old frog. " Boys kill," he con- 
tinued. 

The boy-frog now remembered several shameful 
excursions of his own after frogs and pollywogs, and 
he blushed, but said nothing. 

Presently there was a heavy thud, thud, on the 
bank, and the old frog croaked, u keep dark, keep 
still." 

The boy-frog peeped out from his screen of mud 



230 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

and saw a man with a fish-pole and a net. On the 
end of the line dangled a gang hook, which was 
decorated with a bit of bright red yarn. The bright 
color fascinated the boy-frog and made him uneasy. 
A strange impulse to jump at the thing which the 
man was dangling above, seized him. The old frog 
saw his peril and croaked, " Don't bite, don't bite, 
hook prick, hook prick." 

Then the boy-frog remembered. He had often 
caught frogs himself for the city people at the hotel. 
What a fool he had been to be so easily deceived. 

So the two frogs at the bottom of the pool kept 
very quiet while the man dangled his bait above 
them ; after a while he went further up stream, and 
the tramp, tramp, on the bank grew fainter and 
fainter. 

When the man had gotten out of sight the old 
green bullfrog invited the boy-frog to come out on 
the bank, and the two sat on an old log and caught 
flies for an hour. 

" It is quite easy for frogs and toads to catch flies," 
said the old frog, getting confidential as he flicked in 
fly after fly. " You see nearly all the members of the 
batrachian family, to which the toads also belong, 
being first cousins of ours, have their tongues at- 
tached to the mouth at the front, and the end back 
in the throat is free. If a frog had his tongue fast- 
ened on the other way and had to run it out when- 
ever he caught a fly he would never get one. Now 



THE PEOPLE OF FROG-HOLLOW 231 

all he has to do is to flick it out, and as the tongue 
is covered with a sticky substance Mr. Fly is caught 
and held." 

" Why is it that you frogs are all born tadpoles 
and why do you finally lose your tails ? " asked the 
boy-frog. 

11 Well, I do not know that I can just answer that 
question," said the old bullfrog, flicking in a fly as 
he spoke. " I suppose it is more natural for our 
eggs to hatch in the fish shape. We are so small 
when we are first hatched that we could not support 
legs. 

" The reason we lose the tail finally is because we 
have no further use for it, and nature always throws 
away the things that are useless. When we were 
small we needed the tail to swim with and to steer 
by, same as fish do, but now we can do both with 
our strong legs," and the old frog gave a great leap 
and a few vigorous strokes by way of illustration. 
When he reappeared on the log beside the boy-frog 
he continued : 

" I am going on a journey to a place called Frog- 
Hollow, where there is to be a great frog convention 
this very night, and if you wish you may go with me. 
We will meet many members of the frog family, and 
yon may find out some interesting things about us 
batrachians." 

" What fun, what fun," piped the boy-frog, " let's 
go, let's go." 



232 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

At the bewitching hour of twilight they swam un- 
der the little bridge that crossed the road down in 
Frog-Hollow and came out into the swamp above. 

The boy-frog knew the spot quite well. He had 
often dangled his legs off the bridge and listened to 
the frogs in the swale, but to-night the place held 
new charms for him, and he knew that he should 
learn something of the mystery that had made the 
place so fearful to small boys after dark. 

The convention was to be held upon a little island 
midway in the stream. 

When the two travelers from the pasture reached 
the place of meeting, the spring chorus was in full 
blast, sounding just as the boy-frog had heard it 
many a time upon the lonely road, only to-night it 
was much louder than usual. 

The island and both banks of the stream were 
fairly covered with frogs, all piping, croaking, and 
bellowing away at the top of their voices. 

They ranged all the way in size from the tiny 
cricket frog, or hyla, who is the smallest of all the 
frogs, up to some green bayou frogs who had come 
to the convention from a distant lake. The largest 
of these monster frogs were six or eight inches in 
length, and their deep voices sounded like the lowing 
of cattle, in queer contrast to the shrill piccolo notes 
of the hyla. 

Then there was the wood-frog, dressed in his tan 
suit, croaking softly to himself. The grass-frog, too, 



THE PEOPLE OF FROG-HOLLOW 233 

was there, dressed in a suit that matched the grass 
to a nicety. 

The leopard-frog, a queer spotted fellow from the 
marsh, was also there. He was very vain of his suit 
that made him so different from his fellows. 

The toads were likewise represented, being first 
cousins to the frogs, and both belonging to the ba- 
trachian family. Most conspicuous among these was 
Bufo, the common hop-toad, who dwells under every 
boy's front doorstep if he is not disturbed. Bufo 
was one of the lustiest of the musicians ; and although 
he kept to the bank of the stream, yet he swelled 
out his throat until he looked as though he had the 
mumps, and sent forth a high-keyed, rattling note 
that, heard upon a city street, would have brought 
the cop around the corner on the run. 

It must not be imagined that this wild, weird song 
was given in darkness, for just above the island the 
will-o'-the-wisp hung, and the firefly danced in and 
out, glowing brightly every few seconds. 

When the song had echoed across the marsh con- 
tinuously for half an hour, a mighty bayou frog took 
a commanding position on the island, and called the 
convention to order. 

" Batrachians, attention/' he bellowed in his deep 
voice, and the song was at once hushed. 

" It is now time for me to call to order the annual 
spring convention of the frogs and toads of many 
lakes, rivers and streams, who annually meet in this 



234 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

swale." At these words there were peeps and croaks 
of approval. 

" It gives me great pleasure to again welcome you 
to our meeting-place," continued the chairman in his 
deep voice, "and I am sure that much good will 
come of this meeting. 

" It will enable us to again see friends from distant 
marshes, to report upon doings in our own particular 
districts, and to devise ways and means for promoting 
our general good." 

" I wish you would not use such big words," 
croaked an old frog from the bank. " I ain't eddy- 
cated." 

A chorus of croaks and gulps expressed the uncon- 
trollable mirth of the convention at this confession 
from the old grandfather. But the chairman contin- 
ued disdainfully. 

"If grandpa don't understand he had better go 
back to the tadpole state, and learn his lessons over 
again. I am afraid that when he was a tadpole his 
brains were in his tail, and when he lost that, he lost 
his wit." 

This retort completely silenced the old frog, so that 
he did not even croak again, during the entire 
meeting. 

" Now that I have welcomed you," continued the 
chairman, " and expressed my good will for you all, 
and the hope that this will be our most successful 
convention, I call for our secretary's report." 



THE PEOPLE OF FROG-HOLLOW 235 

At this request Mr. Wood-Frog hopped forward 
and in a low croaking voice read the following 
report : 

" Fellow batrachians. Since our last meeting, 
which was held in this identical spot just a year ago 
to-night, great prosperity has been ours. It will be 
remembered that last year was a very wet season, 
and well suited to the wants and needs of frog folks. 
In every lake, stream, and I might almost say in 
every mudpuddle, our spawn was laid and hatched, 
so that we more than made up for our losses sus- 
tained in the great drought of two years ago. 

" It is also a matter upon which to congratulate our- 
selves that some of our enemies are growing fewer. 
Hawks, owls, minks, and muskrats are all less plenty 
than they were within my own memory. 

" I think that the barbarous custom among men of 
catching us and serving our hind legs upon their 
breakfast table is likewise on the decline. My own 
particular branch of the family have not suffered in 
that way, but that of our worthy president has suf- 
fered grievously at their hands. However, we fare 
much better here in the United States than in Europe, 
where our cousins are slaughtered by the thousands. 
If the curious Frenchmen, who will eat almost any- 
thing, could only be persuaded to eat snakes they 
might confer a lasting benefit upon the whole frog 
family. 

" Another thing upon which we may congratulate 



236 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

ourselves is, that children are being taught by their 
elders and in the public schools, kindness and con- 
sideration for all living things. 

" Men, who were not above stoning frogs in their 
youth, now discourage their own boys from such 
practices, and much good will come of it. 

" The farmers, also, are finding out what a great 
benefit we are in the garden and in the fields, where 
we keep down bugs, grubs and insects that would 
destroy his crops. So he is glad to see us. 

" If there was some way to get rid of our worst 
enemy, the blue heron, it would be a great help to 
the frog world. But I rejoice that the heron too is 
disappearing from our lakes and streams, where he 
once did such fearful execution. 

" But we still have plenty of enemies, and it be- 
hooves us to be always on our guard, watchful and 
wary, for we know not at what moment some of 
them will appear. 

" It may be a pike, who can swallow a half-grown 
frog whole, or it may be a water snake who is coiled 
up on a stone in the middle of the stream. 

" On the whole, I think it is safe to say that the year 
we have just passed has been most successful, and I 
congratulate the frogs of Frog-Hollow upon this fact. 
With this pleasant assurance I will conclude my 
report." 

Amid a chorus of peeping, croaking and bellowing 
that fairly made the swamp ring, the report was ac- 



THE PEOPLE OF FROG-HOLLOW 237 

cepted, and the meeting was declared open for gen- 
eral business. 

One great green frog moved that all the frog fam- 
ily adopt the regulation suit worn by his branch, 
namely, the green coat and pants with yellow vest. 

Other frogs argued, however, that the suit which 
each member of the family wore was best suited to 
his needs. 

The wood-frog argued that the green coat and 
pants would be entirely out of place in the woods 
upon brown leaves. " My own tan-colored suit 
blends nicely with autumn leaves," he said, " but the 
green suit would leave me an easy prey to all my 
enemies. ,, 

So the mover of the green suit motion saw that he 
had made a mistake and withdrew. 

Bufo, the hop-toad, defended his branch of the 
family from the ridicule of leopard frog, who had 
charged the toads with being ugly, and too plain 
dressers, by saying that their plain brown suit was 
the best calculated to screen them from their enemies. 
He said that he could lie in a dirt pile all day long 
and not be discovered. 

" What value is a gaudy suit/' he asked, " after 
you have had the life hammered out of you, or been 
swallowed by a snake ? " He further said that the 
" frogs need not give themselves any airs, as the 
toads were much more useful, and more highly 
esteemed by man." He concluded his speech bv 



238 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

saying that leopard frog's brains were all in his 
heels, so the toads did not mind his croaking. 
When the discussion of matters pertaining to the 
numerous family of batrachians, of which the chair- 
man informed the convention that there were nine 
branches, containing no less than four hundred and 
forty species, had been concluded, the meeting was ad- 
journed for another year, and games and sports were 
indulged in until the cool hours of early morning. 

Leopard frog, the champion jumper from the 
marsh, gave an exhibition of his skill. With two 
or three jumps in which to get under headway, he 
cleared the stream where it was four feet across, and 
he jumped it easily where it was a yard across at a 
standing jump. 

Hyla, the cricket frog, the smallest of all the frogs, 
gave an exhibition of skinning one's self, and then 
eating the skin. A feat that most of us would not 
care to perform. 

He first started the membranous skin at the 
corners of his mouth and then with his forefeet 
pulled the skin covering his head into his mouth. 
With his strong forked tongue he then forced this 
portion of his skin down his throat. Then by the 
most vigorous kicking he kicked himself out of the 
rest of his suit, and deliberately swallowed the entire 
covering of his nimble body. The whole perform- 
ance taking only a few minutes. 

Another amusement that made much mirth was a 



THE PEOPLE OF FROG-HOLLOW 239 

duet between hyla and one of the great bayou 
frogs. The hyla peeped away at the top of his 
voice and the mighty bass bullfrog sounded his 
deepest notes. The test was to see which could 
drown out the other. But when the duet had lasted 
for half an hour and hyla was still peeping lustily, 
and the deep bass was booming away with might 
and main, it was declared a draw. The meeting was 
brought to a close by a fine game of water-tag and 
hide-and-seek, varied with much rough-and-tumble 
sport. 

When the stars began to fade and a pale streak 
was appearing in the east and soft white mist began 
creeping up from the swale, all went their several 
ways. 

The boy-frog and his friend went back to the 
pasture, and the boy-frog hopped out on the bank 
under the tree where the stranger had found him. 

"How ugly you are becoming," said the bullfrog 
as he bade the boy-frog good-by " I really believe 
you are turning back into a boy again." 

The boy-frog looked down at his feet and saw 
that they were no longer webbed, but were the 
bruised and scratched feet of a barefooted boy. 

He also no longer wore the gray green pants 
which he had become quite proud of, but instead his 
old brown overalls. 

" I believe I am half afraid of you," said the frog; 
" guess I had better be going." 



240 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

Then the old cruel impulse came to the boy and 
he reached for a stick. 

With a splash the frog clove the water and dove 
to the bottom ! and remembering what he had just 
heard, the boy threw away his stick and looked off 
across the fields at the setting sun. 

How late it was getting. What a long day-dream 
he had had while the swift summer hours slipped by ! 
He would drive home the cows and that would ex- 
cuse him for staying so long in the pasture. 



Blueback, the Frog-Catcher 

PROBABLY the most interesting of all the shy 
water-folks who frequented the old mill-pond, about 
which so many pleasant boyhood memories cluster, 
was Blueback, the frog-catcher. 

He was the most wary and cunning of them all, 
and this very fact made him more interesting. It is 
not the discoveries that come so easy in the woods 
or waters that are worth trying for, but those that 
take patience and the ability to watch days, weeks, 
or even a whole season, for the desired glimpse of 
nature that we are seeking. 

What country-born boy is there who has not a 
picture of some old mill-pond that stands out dis- 
tinctly among the brightest and best pictures of boy- 
hood. Why should he not remember it ? Did not 



BCUEBACK, THE FROG-CATCHER 241 

the old pond furnish him swimming and boating, 
fishing and skating, and was not its bright glimmer- 
ing surface a picture that always pleased and rested 
his eyes? How many a time I have stood up in the 
old buggy as we drove to town that I might get the 
first bright glimpse of the old mill-pond, just seen 
through a vista of pine woods. 

This same pine woods did more to help me in my 
observations of the frog-catcher than any other thing. 

One side of the pond was skirted by a broad pas- 
ture, which afforded no cover from which to observe 
the heron. I never could stalk him from this side of 
the pond and get near enough to see what he was 
doing ; but on the other side it was different, there 
was the pine woods which crowded close up to the 
water, where all the blue-green plumes were mirrored 
in its depths. 

By making a long detour and coming down to 
the pond through the pine woods, I could usually 
get a good chance to watch the queer old bird on 
stilts. 

Even then he sometimes got the start of me, and 
the first intimation that I would have that I had been 
discovered, I would see him slanting gracefully up 
into the air, flying easily and swiftly, with his long 
legs dangling below. His hearing and eyesight 
were truly remarkable, for the pine woods were car- 
peted with needles, and the bare feet of a boy made 
almost no sound, especially when he went with tense 



242 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

muscles, stepping on the ball of his foot like an In- 
dian, as he crept from tree to tree like a shadow. 

The heron always frequented the other side, where 
he could see and no one could creep on him un- 
awares. Even at the narrowest point the pond was 
twenty rods across, so it will be seen that the heron's 
powers of perception were of the keenest. 

I was greatly aided in observing this shy bird by 
an old field-glass, which a local hero, a captain in 
the Civil War, had loaned me. This glass seemed 
to bring old Blueback up to within thirty or forty 
feet of me, where all his antics and his manner of 
hunting and fishing were plainly seen. 

It is not common for the heron family to live a 
pair in a place, as these two birds who frequented 
our neighborhood did, for they are gregarious, liv- 
ing in quite large communities which are called 
heronries. 

These heronries are usually located in some dense 
swamp close to a large body of water or a chain of 
lakes. The nests are usually in the top of tall trees, 
like the cypress or cedar, and frequently there will 
be several nests in a tree. Nearly all the crane 
family, to which the herons belong, seem to be social 
birds, enjoying their bird village or colony keenly. 

It is probable that my solitary pair of blue heron 
discovered the old mill-pond as they flew over on 
their spring migration northward, and, liking it, 
stayed permanently with us. This is the only way 



BLUEBACK, THE FROG-CATCHER 243 

I can account for the stragglers that are occasionally 
found upon our New England lakes and rivers. 

Blueback, as I have intimated, was a frog-catcher, 
and also a fisherman of no mean order. If patience 
were the prime requisite to catch fish, and it is cer- 
tainly one of the virtues of a fisherman, Blueback 
should have been the greatest fisherman in the world. 
But of course his manner of fishing was primitive. 
He had no rod, hook or line, so he used his long 
sharp beak and his long legs for all they were worth. 
He would wade out into the water to where it was 
about a foot and a half deep and there he would 
stand until a fish came his way. It might be ten 
minutes, and it might be half an hour ; still he would 
stand like a statue. Not a muscle moving, and with 
no thought of trying another position until he had 
thoroughly tested the one he had. (This is a prac- 
tice that every boy can imitate with profit.) His long 
neck would be drawn back so that his head rested 
between his shoulders. His bright eyes were always 
fixed upon the water, but as far as one could see he 
might have been asleep, so still he stood. 

At last his patience would be rewarded, and such 
patience as that always is. His head would shoot 
out like a flash and go a foot or perhaps a foot and 
a half under water and a second later he would bring 
up a chub or a perch, flopping and wriggling ; but 
the unfortunate fish's troubles were soon over, for 
the frog-catcher always killed his catch as soon as it 



244 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

was taken. If it was a fish he speared it with his 
long sharp beak ; but if it was a frog he pounded it 
upon a rock until life had left it. 

I believe that this grave old heron was even more 
fond of frog-catching than he was of fishing, for I 
saw him at it more frequently. 

He would stalk his frogs among the lily pads 
along shore where the water was shallow. He would 
go with the greatest of caution, lifting his feet slowly, 
and setting them down carefully, without any sound 
or splash. When he espied Mr. Bullfrog sitting un- 
der a lily pad enjoying himself, he would become 
even more cautious. Foot by foot he would creep 
forward, and when the right position was reached 
his head would shoot out, as in the case of the fish, 
and the frog always came up kicking frantically. I 
do not think I ever saw the frog-catcher miss this 
game as he occasionally did a fish. 

There was a large flat stone on the pasture side of 
the pond and the frog-catcher usually hid his catches 
under the edge of this until he had gotten the de- 
sired number, when he would gather them together 
in his bill in a miraculous manner and fly away with 
them to the nest, back in the pine woods. I could 
not imagine how he could hold so many frogs at a 
time, but an old hunter told me that he laid them 
upon the ground, letting their legs lie crosswise, and 
then by biting down upon the legs where they 
crossed, his bill would act like a pair of tweezers. 



BLUEBACK, THE FROG-CATCHER 245 

If this was the way it was done, it certainly was 
very clever 

Two remarkable catches I saw the heron make, 
that I think must have astonished even so experi- 
enced a fisherman as he. 

One summer afternoon he had been standing at 
the edge of a little clump of alders that grew almost 
in the water. He had assumed his accustomed at- 
titude, standing erect with his head drawn back 
between his shoulders and his long index-bill point- 
ing down toward the water. 

I remember that there were two things that im- 
pressed me as I watched him. How could he stand 
so still for so long a time? A boy would have 
wanted to fidget, but Blueback stood like a statue. 
The second thing was that nature had given him a 
coat especially designed for fishing. For his blue 
back so well matched the water that one could hardly 
discern him. 

At last the head of the old fisherman shot out and 
down like lightning, but did not immediately come 
up as it usually did. The water was covered with 
ripples and the frog-catcher seemed to be straining 
and tugging away with might and main. Presently 
he put all his strength into one mighty effort, and a 
monster eel came to the surface, bringing with him 
a bunch of grass, lily pads, and other pond growth, 
as large as a half bushel. 

The great eel dropped the bunch of grass, as soon 



246 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

as he discovered that his hold upon the bottom of 
the pond had been broken, and gave his entire 
attention to battle. He thrashed the water and tried 
all the time to coil about the neck of the heron. 

Blueback seemed to appreciate fully that if the eel 
once wound about his neck that he would have seri- 
ous difficulty in breathing, if he did not have to give 
it up altogether. So he buffeted his adversary with 
his great wings. Each time they fell there was a 
blue flash and a sound like beating a carpet. 

Again and again he struck the eel, until at last it 
hung limp and apparently lifeless, although he was 
probably only stunned. 

Finally the fierce old fisherman went ashore with 
his catch and laid it upon the ground, where he 
speared it several times with his bill. Then, con- 
cluding that he had got fish enough for that day, he 
flew away with it to the nest, the eel dangling as 
low down as the heron's long legs. The picture 
reminded me of another lively scene, when a red- 
tailed hawk, or buzzard, stooped to earth and picked 
up a five-foot black snake and flew away with it into 
the blue heavens. 

The old heron's second catch that astonished me, 
and perhaps him as well, was made one afternoon 
when he had been stalking frogs in the lily pads 
near shore. 

He had been stepping along gingerly, stopping 
here and there to investigate some bunch of pads or 



BLUEBACK, THE FROG-CATCHER 247 

clump of pickerel weed, when he suddenly stopped 
and stood very still and seemed to be watching 
something intently. He would reach his head for- 
ward and look with the greatest curiosity at some- 
thing in the water. He seemed to be of two minds, 
but finally he took the initiative and shot his head 
under water, and then began hauling with might 
and main at something that was clearly beyond his 
strength. There were many bubbles upon the water, 
and a slight ripple, but the fish did not come to the 
surface. Again and again he sought to raise it, 
curving his long neck and straining away desper- 
ately. Finally a great black something, about the 
size and shape of a half bushel appeared on the sur- 
face of the water. It was an enormous turtle. How 
Mr. Turtle clawed the water, and how the old fisher- 
man gripped his tail and tugged. This queer tug 
of war was so ludicrous that I laughed, and the spell 
was broken. The old fisherman let go his hold of 
the turtle's tail, and Mr. Turtle, nothing loath, sank 
to the bottom like a stone, while the frog-catcher 
soared away, over the pine woods where I was 
hiding, to his distant nest. 

Just what the outcome of this strange catch would 
have been had I not frightened the fisherman, it is 
hard to say. Certainly the heron could not have 
carried the turtle away, neither could he have killed 
him. 

He would doubtless have given up and let the 



248 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

poor turtle go, a wiser and sadder turtle, if not a 
tailless one. 

Once, and only once, we boys scaled the old pine, 
to see the nest, and that experiment quite satisfied 
the one who undertook it. 

Ned Hubbard and I were sitting under the pine, 
disputing about the number of young that the heron's 
nest probably contained. He thought five or per- 
haps six, but I thought three or four would be the 
limit. There was no way in which to settle the dis- 
pute satisfactorily without seeing the inside of the 
nest, so Ned agreed to go up. 

It was a monster first growth pine, three feet in 
diameter and running up to a great height. 

For the first thirty feet there were no limbs, but 
after that the top was quite bushy. The nest was 
up about sixty feet, in a dense whirl of limbs. 

Ned was obliged to adopt the Hottentot's manner 
of climbing large trees. This was to pass a piece of 
rope of sufficient length about the trunk of the tree, 
and hold each end in the hand. The rope circled 
the bowl of the tree on the side opposite the climber, 
and the boy's arms completed the circle. In order 
not to lose his hold on the rope, and fall, Ned made 
a slip-noose in either end, and passed his hand 
through the loop. In climbing, the boy scrambled 
up by means of his arms, legs, and the rope, with 
which he could grip the opposite side of the tree. 
When he had wriggled up as far as he could without 



BLUEBACK, THE FROG-CATCHER 249 

moving the rope, he would suddenly loosen his grip 
upon the tree with the rope, and throw up both 
arms. This would throw the rope up a foot or two 
higher on the tree, where it was tightened by a 
skilful pull. The novice could not climb a tree in 
this manner, but the boy who has learned how can 
go up a large limbless tree like a cat. 

We did not think either of the old herons were at 
home, but soon discovered that the female was. We 
could tell her by her greater size. She soon sum- 
moned her mate, by rising high in air and circling 
about. I do not know whether this was a signal 
agreed upon by them, or whether her flight was agi- 
tated and easily understood by the old fisherman 
down at the mill-pond, but it soon brought him. 

As both birds were sailing about the tree in a men- 
acing manner, I called to Ned to desist, but he would 
see that nest, if it was a possible thing. He was not 
any more afraid of the herons than he would have 
been of a pair of crows. This was his boast, when 
he went up the tree, but he had quite changed his 
opinion when he came down. 

Up thirty or forty feet from the ground there was 
a long scar on the old tree, where the lightning had 
struck it, and here the limbs were not so thick. All 
went well with Ned until he reached this open place, 
where he was exposed to attack. 

Suddenly, without warning, the female bird swooped 
at him, coming down with great velocity. Ned had 



250 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

just presence of mind enough left to turn his face to the 
tree-trunk to protect his eyes and hold on for dear life. 
The first stroke of the infuriated heron's beak plowed 
a furrow in Ned's scalp two inches long, cutting clear 
to the bone. A second later the other heron swooped 
and speared Ned in the side of the face, both strokes 
being intended for the eyes, but not reaching their 
mark. 

Ned gave a howl of pain and came down through 
the open spot, hand over hand, in the most reckless 
manner, not seeing much choice between falling forty 
feet or having his face picked to pieces by the angry 
heron. 

In fewer seconds than it takes to tell, he was safe 
among the closely entwining limbs, where the birds 
could not get at him. In fact they did not try to, 
after they saw him descending the tree, but contented 
themselves with hoarse angry croaks and agitated 
flights about the tree. There is no doubt that had 
either of us attempted to scale the tree again that we 
would have had our eyes picked out long before we 
reached the nest. 

I washed the blood from the two ugly gashes at a 
little spring near by, and then closed the cuts with 
balsam, which is a most soothing lotion. 

Then we wended our way homeward, wiser and 
sadder boys, but we had gained no knowledge on the 
question in dispute, namely, the number of young in 
the heron's nest. But an old woodsman settled it 




NED HAD JUST PRESENCE OF MIND ENOUGH LEFT TO TURN HIS FACE 
TO THE TREE-TRUNK. 



BLUEBACK, THE FROG-CATCHER 251 

for us later on, by saying that the heron laid from 
three to five eggs, usually four, and that the young 
stayed in the nest until they were nearly grown, the 
old birds feeding them with frogs, fish, crustaceans, 
and sometimes even mice, when the fishing was not 
good. 

My last meeting with the grave old fisherman, 
who always reminded me of a boy on stilts, or a 
daddy-long-legs, was so startling and unexpected, 
that thoughts of it made my blood tingle for many a 
day. 

It was early in September of as sweet an autumn 
day as ever made a boy's heart glad. The late 
blackberries were fairly weighting the bushes down 
along the edge of the woods. The fruit was dead 
ripe, and fell to the ground at a slight touch. 

I was tramping the glorious sweet-smelling au- 
tumn woods in company with an old hunter helping 
him hunt partridge. But my part was a rather sec- 
ondary one, although I thought it most important 
I carried the game bag and went upon the opposite 
side of the cover that we were working, so when the 
dog pointed, I could flush the birds and cause them 
to fly out on my companion's side. This is a prac- 
tice that I should not advise any boy to try, even for 
the most experienced and careful hunters, for it 
finally cost me my eyesight. 

Most of the bevies of young partridge had not yet 
separated, and we found them very plenty. 



252 WOOD AND WATER FRIEXDS 

It was not until toward evening when we were 
wending our way homeward with a heavy game-bag 
that my surprise came. We were coming down 
through the pine woods back of the old mill-pond 
and had nearly reached the water, when my com- 
panion suddenly threw up his gun and without seem- 
ing to take aim, fired. I could not imagine what he 
had shot at, as the trees were quite thick overhead. 
While I was still wondering what had drawn my 
companion's fire, there was a great flopping over- 
head, and he cried, " Look out." I jumped one side, 
just in time to escape being hit by a winged monster 
that was falling through the boughs just above my 
head. Then with a hoarse croak, and a great flap- 
ping of wings, the old frog-catcher lay upon the 
ground before me, almost at my feet. 

With the boy's impulse to seize upon everything 
strange, I reached out my hand to touch him, for he 
seemed harmless enough to my boyish understanding. 

" Look out, keep back," cried the old hunter, but 
the warning was too late, for the heron's head flashed 
out just as I had seen it so many times before, and the 
sharp beak went nearly through the palm of my hand. 

I drew back to a safe distance and sucked my 
wound, but could not keep my eyes off the magnifi- 
cent old fisherman, who was so much beyond my 
previous conception of him. I had seen him many 
times before, but had not dreamed what a mighty 
bird he was. 



BLUEBACK, THE FROG-CATCHER 253 

This is the .way he looked as he lay there, his 
long slight legs thrust out straight behind, and his 
long wings stretched to their full sweep. 

His predominant color as he lay upon his breast, 
with his great wings spread, was an ashen blue, and 
I could think of nothing but a fragment of a cloud, 
that had been sundered from the blue of heaven, and 
laid upon the brown earth. His breast was white, 
edged with black, from which extended two long 
black feathers, the plumes of this vanquished knight. 
His underside was chestnut color, broadly striped 
with white. The long pearly gray plumes that I had 
noticed attached to the breast in the spring and early 
summer were gone now, but the tall fisherman was 
sufficiently magnificent without them. 

The old hunter's pocket-rule declared that the 
great frog-catcher was fifty inches in length from the 
top of his yellow stout bill to the end of his tail, and 
his blue ethereal pinions, that I had seen so often 
easily winnowing the upper air, were nearly six feet 
in sweep. 

Altogether, he was one of the most magnificent 
fallen cloud-kings that I have ever seen. 

To-day he greets you gravely, at the door, as you 
enter the museum of one of our large colleges in a 
distant city. He has lost none of his stature, and his 
eye is almost on a level with your own, but that 
which made him interesting is gone. He is no 
longer the frog-catcher, the fisherman, the epicurean 



254 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

who dines upon small crustaceans, and almost any- 
thing that would work into the menu of an uncooked 
shore dinner. He is no longer the tall striding 
daddy-long-legs, the bird on stilts, or the fragment 
of a cloud descended to earth. He is now a splendid 
specimen of the great American Blue Heron, who 
still stands statuesque, but never strikes. 



Little Musky's Story 

LITTLE MUSKY was born about the first of Febru- 
ary, in one of the conical shaped muskrat houses 
upon the island in the great river. He had been one 
of a family of nine rats, for the muskrat always has a 
good large family. His parents lived in a three-story 
house, about six feet high, and six or seven feet in 
diameter. The muskrat houses had been built 
higher than usual the autumn before, for, by some 
wild instinct, the wary rats expected unusual freshets 
in the spring ; and their prophecies usually came 
true. By observing these sagacious little creatures, 
man can often get valuable hints as to the weather, 
for many months ahead. 

When the winter is to be long and cold, they build 
the rush and reed walls of their houses thicker, both 
to keep out the cold and to serve them as provender. 
When there is to be high water in the spring, they 
build their houses high, so that they will not be 
drowned out when the freshet comes. 



LITTLE MUSKY'S STORY 255 

The family of muskrats to which Musky belonged 
had been very cosy in their nicely constructed house, 
where they nestled close to their mother's warm fur, 
and were content. It was several weeks before they 
were large enough to crawl about, but they grew 
much faster than other small creatures, so in two 
months they were exploring the house for them- 
selves. 

Before the spring freshet came they were large 
enough to go outside, and run about in the tunnels 
that the old muskrats had made in the snow. These 
tunnels were very winding, and led from point to 
point, where provender had been stored. 

About the middle of April, there were several days 
of hard rain, and the ice in the river broke up, and 
the spring flood began. 

At first the three conical houses on the island had 
seemed very secure, for they were on a high point, 
and several feet above water. But an ice-jam was 
formed in the river below, and the water rose rapidly. 
This was something that the rats had not expected, 
so, like the wisest of us, they were taken unawares. 
Soon the water came into the lower story of their 
house, and they went to the second floor. Then 
that, too, became flooded, and they went to the 
third, and last. But the water still rose, and the 
fate of the poor muskrats looked dubious. The 
water was so deep about their house, that they could 
not escape by the water-passage, and reach a place 



256 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

of refuge before their breath and strength would be 
gone. Finally, the floor of their last refuge became 
wet, and they huddled up in one corner, frightened 
and miserable. 

Then a lucky accident delivered them from the 
trap in which they had been caught, for a log came 
rushing and tumbling about in the current, and stove 
in the top of their house, and their escape was made 
more easy. 

But where should they flee to, for on every side 
was water, water, water, and nothing but water. It 
was not placid and inviting, as they were used to 
see it, but turbulent and angry, and they feared it 
with an unknown fear. 

Soon a long, queer object began slowly moving 
across the meadows, toward the island. Occasionally 
a bright flame would leap from this strange thing, 
and a thunderous noise would reverberate across the 
waters. The muskrats did not know what it all 
meant, but it doubled their fears, which were already 
great. 

Soon the monster drew near the island and its 
three conical houses, and the old rats became 
alarmed. They were all out on the top of the house 
now, and could see the moving object quite plainly. 
Then the thunderstick spoke again, louder and 
more terribly than it had before, and one of the old 
rats, and three of the children rolled, kicking and 
splashing, into the river, and the water about them 



LITTLE MUSKY'S STORY 257 

was red with blood. Then a friendly plank came 
floating by, and the remaining old muskrat, and 
three of the youngsters swam and climbed upon it. 
Bang, bang, bang, went the thunderstick again, and 
the old muskrat, and two of the children on the plank 
tumbled off, as the others had done from the top of 
their house; and little Musky was left alone upon 
the plank, in a hostile and terrible world. But the 
water was more merciful than man, for the current 
bore him swiftly away, out of reach of the thunder- 
stick. 

On, on, the current swept the friendly plank, and 
this queer little mariner was borne far away from all 
familiar things ; and never again in his adventurous 
life did he see any of his own family. Sometimes 
the plank rushed through narrows with a speed that 
fairly took his breath away, and then it glided gently 
along, where the river was broad, and not so turbu- 
lent. Once it rushed into a whirlpool, and was sent 
spinning round and round. The poor rat became 
quite dizzy, and nearly lost his hold, but he knew 
intuitively that his only hope was in clinging tight, 
so he clung. 

Several times the plank shot under long bridges, 
where the swollen waters nearly washed the floor. 
At another point it shot over a great dam, with the 
speed of an arrow. 

Finally, after several hours, it was carried into 
back water, and lodged in some bushes, and Musky's 



258 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

travels ceased for a while, for which he was very 
glad, for it tired him, and made him so dizzy, that 
he could hardly tell water from land. 

Soon another plank came floating by, and lodged 
still nearer the shore, so he left the plank that had 
served him so well, and swam to the second one, and 
from that to an old log, until, at last, he was on land. 
Here his first care was to eat some last year's dead 
water grass, and stop the gnawing at his vitals. 
Then he crawled into a hole in the bank, and went 
to sleep. 

When he awoke, he was sore and stiff, but a run 
in the sand soon restored his good feelings. There 
was plenty of good food, both in the wash along the 
shore, and in the reeds, and water grasses, so he 
fared very well, as far as food was concerned, but he 
was very lonely. He had always had a dozen or 
more young muskrats for playmates and compan- 
ions, and it seemed strange to be left all alone. He 
had no idea where the island in the great river could 
be found again, and soon gave up looking for it. 

The second day he made the acquaintance of a 
drowned-out skunk, which made it a little less lone- 
some. The skunk did not have very much to do 
with him, but it was nice just to have some one to 
look at, and to know that there were other living 
things, beside himself, that the flood had pushed 
from their homes. 

After about a week, the water subsided, and the 



LITTLE MUSKY'S STORY 259 

river went back to its old channel. The sun then 
came out warm for the time of year, and dried up 
the sand. The young muskrat found the sand a 
great delight, and was never tired of playing in it, 
but he soon learned that his element was the water. 
On land he was awkward, and did not know just 
how to make his legs go, but in the water they went 
all right. So he concluded that he was made for 
swimming, and kept much to the water. 

Two very serious mishaps befell him this first 
summer, which he might have avoided if he had 
been in the company of wiser heads, but he was 
alone in the world, and had to buy all his wisdom. 

One morning in midsummer, he was playing on 
the shore, after having made a fine breakfast on lily 
bulbs, when he noticed a shadow upon the ground 
beside him. It had not been there a second before, 
and he wondered what made it. The next second 
he found out in a way that astonished him, for there 
was a great flapping above him, and before he knew 
what was about to happen, a large fish-hawk had 
wrapped steely talons about him, and strong wings 
were bearing him away. 

With that instinct of self-preservation, that is 
strong in all wild creatures, and which tells them to 
do the right thing at the right time, the young rat 
drew himself up, and buried his teeth in the hawk's 
leg. 

The old osprey had caught many young muskrats 



2 6o WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

before, none of them had ever bitten him, but he had 
taken this one up in the wrong manner. It was so 
sudden and unexpected, that for a second the hawk 
loosed his grip, and the poor rat dropped back into 
the river with a thud, that nearly knocked the breath 
out of his body, and left him kicking and gasping on 
the surface of the water. The hawk could easily 
have taken him again, but the muskrat's teeth had 
sunk deep into his leg, and he concluded to go after 
a fish, instead. Fish did not act in that uncivil 
manner. 

So little Musky escaped this time, but he never 
forgot the lesson. After that, whenever he saw the 
fish-hawk hovering above the river, he sought a safe 
shelter, and was very careful not to show himself 
until the osprey had gone. Musky's second adven- 
ture, and one from which he learned a valuable les- 
son, was with his worst enemy, the mink. 

One evening, when he was playing in the shallows 
of a little brook, which ran into the river, he saw a 
slim, sleek-looking animal, not much larger than 
himself, come gliding noiselessly down the brook. 
His movements were all stealthy, and his head was 
turned this way and that, inquiringly. His eyes 
were sharp and beady, and Musky did not like his 
looks, although he seemed small and harmless. 

Presently the stranger caught sight of the musk- 
rat, and fixed his glittering eyes upon him. This 
made Musky feel uncomfortable, and, deciding to 



LITTLE MUSKY'S STORY 261 

give the fierce little stranger all the room he wanted, 
he moved to the other side of the brook, but the 
mink followed, his eyes getting brighter and brighter. 
Then Musky concluded the stranger was not to his 
liking, and fled toward the river, where there was 
plenty of water, the mink following fast. Out and 
in among the lily pads they raced, the mink gaining 
on the rat, and Musky getting more and more 
frightened. What could this little Fury want of 
him? 

When they reached the river, the mink was but 
a few feet behind, and he glided after the muskrat 
like a snake. In his great fright, the muskrat did 
the only thing that he could have done to save his 
life. He knew of no burrow in which to take refuge, 
so he swam for deep water, and dove to the bottom. 
His lungs were much stronger than those of the 
mink, so, by a series of dives, he soon winded his 
pursuer, and escaped, hiding in the lily pads until he 
was gone. 

After this thrilling chase, the muskrat' s life went 
on quite uneventfully, until the fall freeze. When 
the rivers and streams began to skim over with ice, 
each morning, and the grass along the bank was 
covered with hoar-frost, something told the musk- 
rat that snow and cold were coming. He knew by 
some rare instinct that he would not always be able 
to make his breakfast at the brookside, as he now 
did. 



262 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

So, with prudent forethought, he began building a 
great mound of reeds, rushes, lily pads, moss, and 
other plants that grew in swampy places. 

Higher and higher he piled this heap of plant life, 
until it was five or six feet high, and nearly as far 
across at the base. The inside of this queer haycock 
he left hollow, and when it was finished he made 
two channels underground, from the inside of his 
house, to the brook. 

He made these channels quite long, so that his 
enemy the mink would have a hard time holding his 
breath if he should undertake to enter at his front 
door. 

This queer house that the muskrat had built was 
to serve two purposes. First, it was his place of 
refuge, and shelter, and, secondly, it was his food. 
Who ever heard of any one eating his house ? But 
this was what the muskrat did, while the winter days 
went by. 



The Revenge of the Blue Horde 

The warm South wind is dancing a jig down the 
aisles of the forest. He has been so long exiled 
from his beloved fields and woods of New England, 
that he is making up for all he has lost in the winter 
months that have passed. His boisterous cousin 
the North wind has had it all his own way too long. 
It is time he was taught his place, so the South wind 



THE REVENGE OF THE BLUE HORDE 263 

is pushing him rapidly back toward the poles, and 
he is so glad that his hour has come again that he 
whistles a merry tune upon his pipe as he goes. 

How sweet the woods are now he has passed. 
He was fresh from a race through the orchard and 
had filled his wings with crab-apple scent and scat- 
tered it lavishly through the woods. The wild azalea 
too he has gently swayed in passing. He has brought 
a whiff of arbutus and wild cherry and the pungent 
wholesome smell of balsam and pine needles quick- 
ened into fragrance by the warm May sunlight. 

What an important air the South wind has to-day, 
as he dances through the forests blowing lustily 
upon his flageolet. You would really think he 
owned the whole universe. 

What a thrill of life is stirring to-day in the half- 
grown leaves and the bursting buds, in the groping 
fronds and the germinating seeds. 

Now the South wind has passed, the forest is as 
still as though enchanted. Not a leaf rustles, not a 
breath is stirring. Hark, what is that? A song in 
the top of a spruce, low-keyed and liquid. A won- 
derful love ditty, now it is repeated, softer and more 
exquisitely than before. What bird in all the forest 
sings like that? It is not an oriole or thrush, but 
quite as sweet as either. Then a bough bends and 
a wonderful blue coat flashes in the sunlight and the 
most strident, querulous, rasping voice in the forest 
cries, " Jay, Jay, Say, Say, Didn't know I could sing 



264 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

like that, did you ? Well, I can, when I am a mind 
to, but I won't for you. Jay, Jay, Jay I" 

He flashes out of the tree and across the fields 
and is gone. A veritable bluecoat, but altogether a 
noisy quarrelsome fellow, the spy of the woods, al- 
ways squawking and calling when you want to listen 
and many times drowning the sweet songs of other 
birds with his hideous cries. A gay-garmented 
rogue, all show and bright feathers, but at heart a 
saucy shallow fellow. 

The song we heard this morning was the jay's 
spring love song. His one musical attempt, that 
only his mate on the nest with the warm eggs under 
her can inspire. You did not suspect him of such 
sentiment, neither did I until I heard him with my 
own ears. 

But there was one menace that May morning to 
the feathered folks of the woods. It was a silent, 
stealthy, gliding danger that was always with them. 
No matter how fresh and green or inviting a grassy 
plot or a bunch of brakes might look, this stealthy, 
creeping danger might be coiled in the sweet green 
depths. 

There was a peculiar enmity between this subtle 
something and the jay family, for the jays were the 
spies of the woods. Many a bird's plumage had 
been saved by the strident squall of the jay. When- 
ever any of these gay-liveried saucy spies saw the 
black snake creeping upon its prey, or 'lying in 



THE REVENGE OF THE BLUE HORDE 265 

ambush along some favorite path, or coiled in the 
trees, the jay would at once set up a great squalling 
and alarm the whole forest for a quarter of a mile 
about. Then birds and squirrels would be upon 
their guard, and perhaps the black evil would go 
hungry, thanks to the jay's vigilance. So there was 
a particular hatred between the jay family and the 
black snake who made the swamp above the old 
mill-pond and some of the neighboring woods his 
headquarters. 

Down into the peaceful valley by the old mill- 
pond the black evil went creeping, his head raised 
about a foot from the ground. Whenever he stopped 
to consider the head swayed rhythmically from side 
to side, in that peculiar motion so common with 
snakes. 

But down in the valley there lived still another 
crawling, gliding marauder who was feared and 
hated by all the little water-folks in and about the 
pond. This danger usually lay coiled up in the lily 
pads, or on the bank near the water, always silent 
and always watchful. A danger that young musk- 
rats and frogs were especially fearful of. 

The same morning that the black snake left his 
headquarters in the swamp and went on a journey, a 
huge dark water-snake crawled out on the bank and 
took a nap in the warm May sunshine. He was 
larger even than the black snake of the swamp, and 
this morning he felt quite contented with the world 



266 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

in general and his own lot in particular, for he had 
dined upon a half-grown muskrat. 

Up, up, from the swale the black snake came 
creeping, and the young grass wriggled at his 
coming, while the terror of the mill-pond slept upon 
the muddy bank. Finally the sleeping water-snake 
awoke, raised his head, and looked cautiously about. 
Something was coming his way, there was a tremor 
in the grass and this meant a snake. Then a slim 
head, blacker even than his own, was lifted high 
above the grass and two eyes glittering and terrible, 
burning with hatred and glowing with malice, were 
riveted upon the water-snake. 

But what cared he, was he not the terror of the 
mill-pond? Who was this stranger that dared to 
invade his kingdom, defy him, and even appear 
contemptuous of his sway ? So he made one or two 
extra coils in his long powerful form and glared 
back at his enemy, darting out his tongue with 
lightning rapidity and returning hate for hate with 
steady glowing eyes. 

The black snake lifted his head still higher above 
the grass and came on, circling about his rival and 
seeking to take him oflf his guard, but the water- 
snake always turned to meet him squarely, and 
neither got any advantage from their position. See- 
ing that this maneuvering was futile, and being 
angered that any one dared dispute the path with 
him, the black snake finally sprang his length, at his 



THE REVENGE OF THE BLUE HORDE 267 

rival. Then there was a quick succession of light- 
ning passes, so fast the ugly heads flashed, that the 
eye could hardly follow them. Their ugly forms 
writhed and twisted, squirmed and lashed the grass 
along shore. Over and over they went, until at last 
the fury from the swamp, who was quicker than his 
antagonist, got the hold he wanted and then some- 
thing happened. 

The black snake had caught his rival with a firm 
grip two-thirds of the way toward his tail. Then 
with a lightning motion the black snake wound his 
own tail about a small elm that stood upon the bank. 
With a convulsive contortion he raised his own ugly 
form in air, and with it, that of the water-snake. 
Like a long black rope the double length of snake 
rose and fell, beating the earth, but the third time 
the black rope made a graceful half-circle, then shot 
forward with a lightning motion. With a report 
like the crack of a whip the head of the water-snake 
rolled into the pond, while his body writhed and 
twisted in the grass. 

Then the black snake unwound his coil from the 
water-elm and watched the dying contortions of his 
enemy. 

When the wriggling of the water-snake had ceased 
and it was apparent that he was quite dead, his enemy 
gloated above him and swelled with pride over his 
great victory. Then he swam the pond and went into 
the woods beyond in search of more foes to conquer, 



268 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

It happened this same morning that a partly- 
fledged jay had fallen from the nest. He was not 
ready to fly and his parents were in a great dilemma. 
The old snake heard their cries afar off and knew 
quite well that some one was in trouble. Trouble 
for the birds at nesting time usually meant plunder 
for him, so he hastened in the direction from which 
the squalling and cries of distress came. 

So swiftly and silently the black destroyer came 
that the first knowledge of his presence that the jay 
family had was when his ugly head shot like light- 
ning through the ferns and grasses and his terrible 
jaws closed upon the fledgeling. 

The poor victim squawked once or twice, fluttered 
feebly and was still, the life had been crushed out of 
it by the destroyer. 

Both of the jay parents darted viciously at the 
snake but he paid little attention to them, and began 
leisurely swallowing his prize. 

Then the male jay rose in the air, high above the 
treetops and flew rapidly away, calling at the top of 
his strident voice as he flew : 

"Jay, jay, pay, pay, flay, flay." 

Another jay in a distant treetop took up the cry 
and flung it far on into the woods. Soon another 
was heard calling and still another and another. 
The call was answered from across the mill-pond and 
from far and near the blue-coated rogues came flying, 
calling as they came, "Jay, jay, pay, pay, flay, flay." 



THE REVENGE OF THE BLUE HORDE 269 

The outraged father led them hurriedly back to 
the spot where the deed had been committed and 
where the grieving mother still watched the greedy 
snake swallowing her fledgeling. One would not 
have imagined there were as many jays within ten 
miles as soon flocked above the snake, all squalling 
with rage and fear. Each moment the cries grew 
louder and soon the birds began darting viciously at 
the snake, There was something ominous in this 
cry of fury that steadily grew in volume and inten- 
sity. The black destroyer had frequently killed 
young jays and the offense had gone unpunished, 
but now something very much like fear came over 
him, and he slunk away into the grass, feeling ac- 
tually afraid for the first time in his life. 

As long as he faced them and struck at them 
whenever they came too near, he had been compara- 
tively safe, but now he had turned tail and was flee- 
ing, it was different. 

At the moment he showed the white feather, the 
whole angry horde fell upon him like furies. A half 
dozen darted down at once, picking at as many 
places in his wriggling black coils. He turned and 
struck and his motions were so quick that the eye 
could hardly follow him. Two wounded jays flut- 
tered down into the underbrush but what cared the 
rest? The horde was aroused and nothing but blood 
would atone for the murder that the snake had done. 

The black fury could not strike in a dozen places 



270 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

at once and some of them were sure to wound him. 
Soon his skin had been broken in many places and 
he was covered with blood, but none of his great 
strength was gone. A half dozen beaks tore at his 
tail and he turned writhing with pain to strike at 
these tormentors. At the same instant a jay struck 
him fairly in the right eye and that organ lay out on 
his cheek and was useless. This was the beginning 
of the end, but his end was terrible, as was his 
desert. Never punishment fell from heaven upon the 
guilty more swiftly or surely. In a few seconds more 
his other eye was gone, and he could only strike 
blindly and thrash and writhe in convulsions of pain. 
Slowly and relentlessly they picked and tore at the 
writhing mass. In five minutes after the battle be- 
gan, the snake's skin was stripped to ribbons, his en- 
trails dragged upon the ground and he was so torn 
and pecked that his own mate would not have known 
him. Thus was justice meted out, and the black 
destroyer went the way that he had sent so many 
helpless fledgelings, 



The Little Fisherman 

The Little Fisherman and I were rivals upon the 
same stream and that is how I became so well ac- 
quainted with his manners, morals and habits of life. 

Although he was an expert fisherman, it would 
hardly be fair to call him an angler, for he did not 



THE LITTLE FISHERMAN 271 

angle but merely fished. So while I sought by cun- 
ning baits to catch my fish, he took his whenever 
they came in sight, like the bold fisherman he is. 

The first time I saw him was a bright April morn- 
ing when I was threading my favorite trout stream. 
It was the first day of the open season for men, but 
the little fisherman fishes in season and out, and the 
warden always condones his offense. 

Just above my favorite trout hole a graceful water 
elm spreads its broad branches far over the stream 
and my rival was perched upon one of its overhang- 
ing branches, which was dead and quite free from 
twigs. This gave him an unobstructed view of the 
water. He was standing like a statue, with his head 
bent forward watching the water intently. He was 
so intent on his game that he did not see me, so I 
had a good view of him at our first meeting. 

He was a plump chunky fellow, with a blue coat 
and white markings underside, and his head was 
adorned with a bright bristling crest of blue feathers, 
which gave him quite a jaunty appearance. His 
legs were short, and when he plunged into the stream 
a few seconds after I discovered him, I saw that his 
wings were also short for his size. His first attempt 
was a failure and he came up, dashing sprays of 
bright brook water in every direction, but he had the 
true fisherman's patience, for he went back to exactly 
the same spot and fell to watching the water as be- 
fore. He did not have long to wait, for in a minute 



272 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

or two he dove again and this time he brought up a 
minnow about three inches in length, which he swal- 
lowed so quickly that I did not know where it had 
gone until he caught another. 

Just after he caught the second minnow and again 
took his place on the dead limb, he saw me and at 
once set up such a chattering, sputtering and rattling, 
that I knew he considered me a trespasser while in 
his own mind he was the owner and proprietor of the 
stream. 

I was not frightened away by his clamor, neither 
was he very much afraid of me, for he kept his perch 
and continued to scold until I was within forty or 
fifty feet of him. Then he flew away up stream 
scolding louder and more raspingly, if possible, than 
before. He was angry and there was no disguising 
the fact, for he darted viciously at the water as he 
flew and his whole manner indicated that he was 
much put out. 

I always spent considerable time at the deep hole 
under the old water-elm, for it was usually good for 
two or three nice tiout if one worked it carefully. 

So when the little fisherman came flying back after 
about half an hour he found me still on his favorite 
preserve. There was nothing to do except scold, 
which he did with a vim. But he soon flew away, 
and I did not see him again that day. 

It was nearly two weeks after my first meeting 
with the little fisherman that I saw his mate. As I 



THE LITTLE FISHERMAN 273 

had fished the stream that they inhabited thoroughly 
for three miles of its length, I am confident that Mrs. 
Kingfisher had just arrived. She evidently had lin- 
gered behind, to enjoy sunnier skies, while her lord 
went ahead to spy out the country and stake out 
their claim. 

How she managed to find the spot that he had 
chosen among so many streams and rivers I do not 
know. This was their first year upon my trout 
brook, so there must have been some prearrange- 
ment. I do not imagine that this particular King- 
fisher just happened along and fell in love with Mr. 
Kingfisher on the spot, but rather that their courtship 
had ripened before they came to my neighborhood. 

Mrs. Kingfisher was marked very much like her 
mate with one striking exception. Both had the 
blue and white livery and the bristling topknot, but 
Mrs. Kingfisher had in addition a broad dull red belt 
or girdle that gave her a somewhat gay appearance. 
This is contrary to the "general styles prevailing in 
bird-land, where the males usually wear the bright 
feathers and the females the more modest dresses. 

Very soon after the appearance of the second 
Kingfisher, both set to work upon their dwelling. If 
you are not acquainted with the habits of this most 
interesting bird you never could guess how the new 
home was made. 

It was by a mere accident that I discovered the 
nest. I was sitting upon a sand-bank a few rods 



274 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

above where the stream entered the mill-pond, when 
I noticed a small pile of dirt on the bank near me. 
It did not look like the work of the creatures whose 
burrows I knew, so I laid down my pole and ex- 
amined it carefully. 

The hole extended directly back into the sand-bank 
for about four feet,. where it abruptly ended. This 
was a queer burrow and whose work it was I could 
not imagine. 

There were footprints upon the loose sand that 
were certainly made by a bird, but I did not at first 
associate them with the hole. Finally I gave it up 
and went on fishing, following the stream down to 
the pond. 

Here I discof ered the Kingfishers very much en- 
grossed with taking minnows, which were quite 
plenty in the shallows along the edge of the pond. 
When they discovered me they set up a great clatter 
and chatter as usual, but finally flew up stream and 
alighted upon the sand-bank ; or rather disappeared 
in it. I watched and waited for some time to see 
what had become of them and finally my patience 
was rewarded by seeing a shower of sand thrown 
from the queer burrow I had discovered. The King- 
fishers had entered the hole and were carrying on 
some sort of excavations, the object of which I did 
not at once discover. But now I knew whose work 
the hole in the sand-bank was, it was merely a matter 
of patience to discover the whole truth. 



THE LITTLE FISHERMAN 275 

Mr. and Mrs. Kingfisher had retained the habits of 
their snake ancestors and were making a hole in the 
ground for their dwelling-place. 

Day by day the pile of sand on the bank increased 
and the burrow was made longer. After it had gone 
straight back for about five feet it took a sharp bend, 
and went about three feet further. Then concluding 
that this was a safe distance underground, the birds 
hollowed out a chamber, perhaps a foot in diameter, 
and the home of the fisherman was ready for his 
mate. Mrs. Kingfisher took possession and soon 
shaped the floor of the chamber according to her 
own ideas of a nest. It was ultimately lined with 
fish bones, which was the only kind of a lining that 
would have suited its occupants. 

As soon as she had laid her eggs, Mrs. King- 
fisher excluded her mate from the nest and began 
her long and monotonous task of hatching the 
eggs. 

At this point in the housekeeping of Mr. and 
Mrs. Kingfisher my boyish curiosity got the better 
of me and I could not longer resist the temptation to 
know what was going on at the end of this queer 
burrow, so I invaded the home of the fisher-folks to 
find out. This was a very unwise thing to do, as it 
might have broken up the nest, and I should not 
advise any boy to do likewise ; but in this case the 
life within went on as though nothing had happened. 
I do not think that any other mother bird would 



276 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

have been as unwilling to leave her eggs, and as 
fearless of intrusion as was Mrs. Kingfisher. 

I first thrust a withe into the hole until it would 
go no farther. This gave me the direction of the 
hole and its length to the bend. Then laying the 
pole upon the ground outside, I was able to dig 
down for a foot and a half and strike the tunnel just 
at the bend. Here I again introduced the stick and 
got the direction of the remaining three feet of the 
burrow, so I could dig straight down upon the nest. 

A fox burrow can be explored in this manner and 
it will save a great deal of digging. This burrow 
will sometimes be forty or fifty feet long with many 
twists and turns, but by introducing a pole the nest 
at the end of the tunnel can be discovered merely 
by digging three or four wells to the depth of the 
burrow. 

I uncovered the nest of the Kingfishers with the 
greatest care and discovered seven white eggs, but 
neither Kingfisher happened to be at home. After 
examining it carefully, I replaced, most of the dirt, 
but by inserting a board, the nest was left so that it 
could be examined any time with little trouble. 
This arrangement afterwards averted a tragedy in 
the Kingfisher family, so I justified my meddlesome 
act from this incident. 

The second time that I visited the nest Mrs. King- 
fisher was on the eggs. Although she scolded and 
bristled when I lifted the board and let in a ray of 




HERE THEY SAT NODDING AND BLINKING. 



THE LITTLE FISHERMAN 277 

light she made no attempt to leave the nest. I was 
lying upon my stomach peering into the hole when 
the long snakelike head of a weasel was thrust into 
the chamber containing the nest. This thirsty blood- 
sucker had evidently entered the burrow before my 
coming and had just discovered the sitting King- 
fisher. I could see his nostrils dilate and his cruel 
hungry eyes glow at the sight of the prize so near 
at hand. He moved his head to this side and that, 
and then sprang upon the Kingfisher's back. I still 
held the board that had covered the nest in my hand 
and reaching down knocked him against the side of 
the nest where I had just room enough to grind the 
life out of him with my board. 

There is scarcely a living thing that I care to kill, 
but the weasel is one of the exceptions to this rule, 
and it was with considerable satisfaction that I picked 
up the dead body of the weasel from the nest that it 
would have destroyed, merely for a few drops of 
blood. 

The proprietor of the strange nest probably began 
sitting about the first of June and the young were 
hatched a little after the middle of the month. 

They were as strange a lot of fledgelings as ever 
made a nest ugly, with short legs, large heads, and 
not even a sign of fuzz on their bodies. Their 
mother, who is short-legged and short-winged her- 
self, could not brood them as readily as a bird mother 
usually does, so they huddled together for warmth 



278 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

and she hovered over them keeping them warm as 
best she could. 

All the time that his wife had been incubating the 
eggs Mr. Kingfisher had been catching fish for her, 
or occasionally he would take his turn for a few 
minutes on the eggs while she went for an airing. 

After the young birds were hatched Mr. King- 
fisher redoubled his efforts in fishing, for he now had 
eight hungry mouths to feed. So whenever he 
caught a minnow, instead of swallowing it at a 
single gulp, he would fly away, with the fish flopping 
in his beak, and deposit it before his numerous 
family. If it was intended for one of the young 
birds, either he or the mother bird would predigest 
the fish before giving it to them. This was done by 
first swallowing the fish and then when it had be- 
come soft and suitable for the crops of the young 
Kingfishers, it was gulped up and fed to them. 

I am afraid that Mr. Kingfisher occasionally went 
hungry himself during these arduous days of feeding 
his family. But it is certain that he did nothing but 
fish all day long. 

It must have been a great relief to him when his 
noisy family was at last driven forth from their un- 
derground nest and taught the art of fishing, which 
they learned much faster than one would have 
imagined. But they were a family of fishermen 
and the instinct of swooping for fish was born in 
them. In the case of this particular family the in- 



THE LITTLE FISHERMAN 279 

stinct was supplemented by several lessons in fish- 
catching. I do not say that the young birds would 
not have learned of themselves, but they were cer- 
tainly helped by the example of their elders. 

I was lucky enough to see the family the first day 
that they came into the bright world, which must 
have been very strange to them, after the life under- 
ground. There was not the usual fuss of young 
birds in learning to fly and although their wings are 
short, after seeing the old birds flying about calling 
persistently to them, the young birds tried their own 
wings. Three flopped up beside their father on the 
old maple stump where I had so often seen him 
perched, watching intently for fish. Here they sat 
nodding and blinking and probably wondering what 
kind of a game it was going to be. 

Then Mr. Kingfisher dove into the water and 
brought up a minnow and dangled it tantalizingly 
before them. He did not give it to them at once but 
preferred to arouse their eagerness for fish and 
fishing. 

When he had plunged into the water several times 
and always brought up a minnow, one of the young 
birds a bit more courageous than his brothers and 
sisters thought he, too, saw great wealth in the wa- 
ters below merely to be had for the taking. So he 
struck the stream with a great splash, but soon came 
up, beating the water into spray and without any fish 
for his pains. He was not able to fly back to the old 



2 8o WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

stump, but had to content himself with perching on 
a low bush along shore, where four of his brothers 
and sisters were. 

If the young Kingfisher saw his fish at all, he 
probably struck too high to get it, for a fish always 
looks much nearer to the surface of the water than 
he really is. Every boy who has used a fish-rod, 
knows how the butt of his pole will seem to bend just 
beneath the surface of the water, when he thrusts it 
into the stream. This is due to light refraction. Of 
course the young Kingfishers, or their parents, know 
nothing of light refraction, but every Kingfisher 
knows that he must strike deep if he would get his 
fish. 

Seeing that his brother was not injured by his 
plunge, another young Kingfisher soon followed his 
example. He too came up flapping the water in 
every direction and making a great fuss about the 
ducking that he got. But after the fact had been 
made plain that fish came from the stream and that 
they could be gotten in some way, if one only knew 
just how it was done, Mr. and Mrs. Kingfisher caught 
no more fish for the young birds, for they knew that 
hunger would be the greatest incentive to the young 
Kingfishers and that it would drive them to make 
efforts to catch fish for themselves, that they would 
not make for mere sport. So combining necessity 
and fun, and encouraging them by their own exam- 
ple, the old Kingfishers had two or three of the bolder 



THE LITTLE FISHERMAN 281 

of their brood fishing for themselves the first morn- 
ing. Once they had the trick learned they were all 
eagerness to fish, and wanted to do nothing else for 
the better part of the day. It, of course, took weeks 
and months for them to become the expert fishermen 
that their parents were, but when they understood 
that they could get a fish, even once in half a dozen 
plunges, they were eager to try. Perhaps there was 
a sort of excitement about it too, just as there is 
about the fishing that the boy does. But certainly 
there was great rivalry among them in practising 
this most interesting art. 

When this enterprising family, that fished without 
hook or line, net or snare, was fully grown, it was a 
gay and noisy assembly. There were certain favorite 
trees that overhung the stream where they could 
almost always be found fishing. These perches were 
especially adapted to their wants, as they afforded a 
position not too high up from the water, and one 
that was free from twigs and leaves. Such trees 
were usually dead, or dying. Sometimes they would 
perch two or three in a bunch, while I have occa- 
sionally seen the entire seven upon the same limb, 
all intently watching the stream beneath. At such 
times as this the rivalry ran high, and it was perilous 
for a minnow to venture into that portion of the pool. 

It was not until the flight woodcock were passing 
and anchor ice had formed along shore, and hoar- 
frost hung heavy on the water-grasses and flag, that 



282 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

I saw the last of the Kingfishers. I do not know 
whether they went singly, or in twos or threes, or as 
a family party, but certainly the stream was not as 
interesting as it had been, when this noisy clattering 
chattering family of little fishermen were gone. 



The Water Weasel 

The weasel of the waters was really not a weasel 
at all but a very sleek mink. But his disposition and 
habits of life so closely resembled those of the weasel 
that I have given him that name. 

The particular member of the family with whom 
we are concerned, usually haunted a little willow- 
fringed brook that I have known and loved since 
childhood. No one could know this sweet little 
brook and not love it. It was the sunniest, happiest 
little stream you ever saw, always laughing and sing- 
ing through the bright day, and gurgling a drowsy 
lullaby through the starry night. 

This terror of the brookside, who was feared and 
hated by all the small creatures along the water- 
course, was really very small for so formidable a 
creature. He did not measure twenty-two inches, 
tail and all, and when his sleek coat was off he looked 
much smaller. His body was round and lithe, 
slightly arched at the shoulders. His head was small, 
his ears set closely in his fur, and his eyes were bright 
and beady. 



THE WATER WEASEL 283 

His movements were swift, and darting. He 
flashed from point to point along the brook, just 
as a weasel moves on the wall. His head would 
suddenly appear from behind a stone, and his bright 
restless eyes would view you for a second, then he 
would be gone. Then, would suddenly appear, this 
time ten or fifteen feet further along behind an old 
log. You never knew just how or when he moved. 
The first you knew he was watching you from a 
new position. 

Once I saw the mink and his mate moving their 
family to a new home. They were carrying the 
babies in their mouths, by the scruff of the neck, 
just as a cat carries kittens. They moved them 
several rods down stream to a hole in the bank, 
under the roots of an overhanging tree. . The high 
water had made their old home untenable, so they 
had moved out, and rented a new tenement. I think 
the hole belonged to some of the mole family before 
the minks came, but they probably dispossessed the 
former occupants and took possession without as 
much as saying "by your leave." 

When the family of the terror were half grown 
they were as playful as kittens and would chase one 
another about with as much zest as young squirrels. 

The mud along the bank, near the bright water of 
my little trout stream, was always dotted with their 
footprints. So I knew quite well of their pranks, 
even when I did not see them. 



284 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

One bright morning the water-weasel started on 
one of his restless wanderings. He did not know or 
care where he went, only that he was on the move. 

He glided along the stream as silently as a shadow. 
A very dark shadow he seemed, and his coming was 
indeed a shadow for many creeping, crawling things 
that lay in his course. Occasionally he would stop, 
with his slight paw raised, looking this way and that. 
Eager, and restless, furtive and watchful. Then he 
would glide on like a swift-moving black speck. 
Near a bunch of lily pads he stopped and peered 
this way and that, searching under all the pads with 
his beady eyes. 

You or I would not have seen anything animate 
among the green pads, but Mr. Mink did. Sud- 
denly he darted forward. There was a short scuffle 
in the water. A violent flopping and splashing and 
then this sleek scamp dragged a great green bull- 
frog, kicking and croaking, to the bank. The poor 
frog is kicking for dear life, and his eyes are bulging 
out with fright ; but his relentless enemy has him by 
the throat, and there is no shaking that grip. The 
teeth sink deeper and deeper. The frog kicks and 
flops, gasps and kicks feebly, and is dead. 

Does Mr. Mink eat him ? O no, he may bite a 
hole in his throat, but he will soon leave him and 
look for another victim. His particular sport is in 
taking the quarry. 

Occasionally he catches a tadpole, or opens a 



THE WATER WEASEL 285 

small clam, but best of all he loves to torment frogs. 
Fish are also to his liking and he occasionally sur- 
prises a sleepy sucker, but he is rather too small to 
be a good fisherman, besides he cannot hold his 
breath very long under the water. He is much 
smaller than the muskrat, but the rat will flee for his 
life, when he sees the glittering eyes of the mink. 
The hunted rat's refuge then, is in keeping in deep 
water, for his lungs are much stronger than those of 
the terror. 

Knowing this fact, when the rat builds his house, 
he makes a long winding tunnel leading to it under 
water. His particular stratagem is to make the 
water tunnel so long that the mink will drown while 
coming through it. If the muskrat has to do battle 
with his bloodthirsty enemy he always meets him if 
possible in the water tunnel, where the mink loses 
his breath and is obliged to go to the surface to 
breathe, to the great relief of the muskrat. Occa- 
sionally, though, he can swim the whole length of 
the water channel, into the muskrat's house, then he 
does bloody work. 

One morning early in November the water-weasel 
went upon the last of his bloody excursions along 
the little stream, and the inhabitants of the water- 
course were glad that they saw him no more, with 
the possible exception of the mink family, who prob- 
ably missed him from their circle. The morning 
was clear and crisp, and Mr. Mink felt peculiarly 



286 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

eager for his sport. He had been very peaceable 
for several days, but now he would make up for it. 
Many of the frogs had crept under the mould, where 
they were stupidly sleeping, The small water-snakes 
too were asleep, but he would find something, some- 
where to sate his love of blood. But this morning 
the hunter was hunted, for he found a dead mouse 
hanging over a shallow in the brook, and in reach- 
ing for it, he set his forefoot in a trap. 

He had always been so swift and sure in flight, 
that it infuriated him to be held in this manner. He 
bit at the ugly thing, until his teeth bled. But it still 
held, and from being a terror, this dark-coated hunter 
became a demon as wild and furious as his size and 
strength would allow. He broke his front teeth on 
the trap and fell to tearing his own glossy coat. He 
bit at everything in reach. Foam and blood were on 
his muzzle. Then he remembered his last weapon 
of defense, that he rarely used unless cornered, and 
emitted an odor that is only surpassed for pungency 
by that of the skunk. But the trap had no nostrils 
and held on as before. 

For half the forenoon the infuriated mink bit and 
tore, first at the trap, and then at himself, but his fate 
did not change. The frog would have smiled to see 
him in this plight if he had known. 

When the little terror had exhausted his strength 
with wrenching, and his sleek coat had been sadly 
lacerated by his own teeth, a tall creature, walking 



THE BOY WITH THE DINNER-PAIL 287 

erect, came stalking along the stream. In one hand 
he carried an empty trap, and in the other a light 
club. He laughed when he saw the mink, for he 
knew that his small pelt, that would scarcely cover 
both a man's palms, was worth four dollars of the 
fur-trader's good money. Then he raised his club, 
which descended swiftly, and the song of the little 
brook was stilled in the Terror's ears, and he 
swooned away into breathless darkness, and was 
nothing but a sleek pelt. 



The Boy With the Dinner-Pail 

How often since that memorable day when I re- 
luctantly turned my back upon the old district school- 
house and went away to the city, have I longed for 
the freedom and the sweet philosophy of the boy 
with a dinner-pail. His was a joyous lot and his 
life was as free as the winds that blow. 

In those rich days I owned the world, the birds, 
the squirrels, the fields and all that they contained. 

Nor was I content with owning merely the world, 
for was not the great free blue sky mine with its 
treasures of stars, some of which still glimmered 
when I drove the cows to pasture in the dewy fra- 
grant morning. 

Half-way down to the old schoolhouse the boy 
with a dinner-pail sometimes left the traveled road 
for a shorter way. This was an old discontinued 



288 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

road so grown with brush, that one would never 
have guessed that it had been a road at all, had 
it not been for a half tumbled down stone wall 
on either side. Beside these walls grew raspberry 
and blackberry bushes, and many a good meal they 
furnished the famished boy on his way home from 
school. Also an occasional scrub apple tree bore 
delicious fruit, but some of these wild apples were 
as sour as vinegar. 

One memorable morning, early in May the boy 
turned into the old disused road as usual and was 
trotting along whistling a merry tune, when from the 
marsh near by came a strange and ominous sound. 
It was a deep three syllable booming, that rolled 
across the lowlands and was lost in the distance. 

The boy sprang upon the wall, curious and half 
fearful. It had sounded as loud as the bellowing of 
a bull and even more resounding, but he did not 
think it was a bull. Presently he heard it again and 
this time he was quite certain it was not an animal. 

But no sight or sound with which he was not fa- 
miliar went unchallenged, so he set his dinner-pail 
down beside the wall and crept cautiously forward, 
always keeping some bush or knoll between him and 
the spot from which the sound had come. 

When he had gone a dozen rods into the marsh 
the strange booming was heard again, this time 
much plainer. Now the boy was almost afraid to 
go forward. He had never heard of any creature 



THE BOY WITH THE DINNER-PAIL 289 

that could make such a sound as this. Perhaps he 
ought to go back, but a strange fascination impelled 
him to go forward. 

He now proceeded with still greater caution going 
on his belly and stopping every few seconds to listen. 
So carefully this young woodsman stalked the strange 
creature that presently the deep booming sounded 
again, now only three or four rods away. 

It could not be a bull, for the marsh was not 
wooded, and he could see in every direction. So he 
lay still in the grass and listened. But the marsh 
was as quiet as though nothing inhabited it. 

How strange it seemed. Perhaps it was a hob- 
goblin, that would swallow him up. He did not 
like strange noises that could not be explained. As 
the silence deepened, a wild terror seized the boy. 
Somebody or something must move or cry out. He 
could stand it no longer, so with a yell like a wild 
Indian he sprang to his feet and swung his hat about 
his head. 

But no fourfooted creature appeared. Instead, a 
great clumsy winged bird, tall and awkward, rose in 
air with a startled cry, and flopped slowly away. 

The boy had a fleeting vision of long dangling 
yellow legs, and a large body, of brown and buff 
with light markings. 

He had never seen such a bird as this before, but 
the mystery of the booming noise still troubled him. 
It surely could not be made by a bird, but try as he 



290 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

would he could not dispel the idea that the great 
awkward stranger had been in some way connected 
with the awful sounds. Mere words could never 
express the boy's astonishment and disgust on re- 
turning to his dinner-pail, to find it bottom side up 
and a yearling heifer munching complacently at 
the last mouthful of a saucer pie that had been baked 
expressly for him. 

Nearly every morning after that the boy heard the 
queer booming sound in the marsh, and each time 
crept cautiously toward it, only to flush the strange 
bird ; but he never saw him make the sound, al- 
though he was quite sure now that the bird made it, 
as there was no other living thing on the marsh 
capable of doing it. 

One morning, while stalking the bird from a new 
direction, he discovered the nest, upon which the 
female was sitting. She was not like most birds 
that the boy knew, for she did not fly away with a 
great show of fear, when he approached her, but 
stuck persistently to the nest, even pecking at the 
intruder. Finally, when the boy swung his hat to 
scare her, she ran away into the grass, disclosing 
her treasures to his inquisitive eyes. It was the 
poorest kind of a nest, merely a few bunches of 
coarse grass scratched together in a clumsy manner, 
with no attempt at lining. 

The eggs were large and of a brownish drab, and 
five in number. It was something to have found the 



THE BOY WITH THE DINNER-PAIL 291 

nest of the " great boomer," as the boy called the 
strange bird, and he now felt quite well repaid for 
his persistence. 

When the eggs finally hatched, and it always 
seems like a long time to the boy who is watching, 
the young birds were all legs and heads, and alto- 
gether the ugliest fledgelings that he had ever seen. 
He was never quite sure just what the old birds fed 
the little ones, although he found the fragments of a 
frog about the nest one morning. Probably grass- 
hoppers, grubs, and small crustaceans also found 
their way to the young bittern's bills. These awk- 
ward, helpless fledgelings stayed in the nest six or 
eight weeks. The boy did not know just when they 
went, but at the end of eight weeks they were gone, 
and he occasionally flushed them in the marsh, or 
along a little stream that flowed near by. 

He never expected to have as good a look at the 
" great boomer " as he finally did, but it came about 
in this way. One morning near the close of the 
school year, as he was crossing the marsh, he heard 
the roar of a shotgun near at hand, and went to see 
who was out gunning and what the game was. 

He soon met Eb Thompson, an old hunter and 
woodsman, coming across the marsh. In his hand 
he was carrying a large bird, and the boy saw at 
once that it was the " great boomer." 

"Hello, Eb, what have you got?" cried the boy 
excitedly. 



2Q2 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

" An American Bittern, and a big one," replied the 
hunter composedly. " I got him out here by Willow 
Brook, and he is a beauty. I guess it is the male." 

The hunter laid the bittern down on the grass and 
spread him out to his full length. Then, taking a 
tape measure from his pocket, he stretched it from 
the bird's beak to the tip of his tail. It measured 
twenty-eight inches, which is a large bittern. 

His upper side was brownish buff, thickly spotted 
or freckled with reddish brown and black. His 
neck was buff, and there was a white line down the 
throat. There was a patch of gray on the sides of 
the neck. His whole underside was pale buff striped 
with brown. His bill was yellow, and his long legs 
were yellowish green. Altogether he was a gorgeous 
fellow. 

It is no wonder that the boy had been almost 
afraid of the strange cries on the marsh, when we 
recall this thrilling description of the sound, as de- 
scribed by Oliver Goldsmith. 

" It is impossible for words to give those who have 
not heard this evening call an adequate idea of its 
solemnity. It is like the interrupted bellowing of a 
bull, but hollower and louder and is heard at a mile's 
distance, as if issuing from some formidable being 
that resided at the bottom of the waters." Other 
sounds there were upon the lonely marsh, besides 
the booming of the great bittern, that fascinated the 
boy with the dinner-pail. Most of these sounds 



THE BOY WITH THE DINNER-PAIL 293 

were heard in the early spring, and it is then that 
nearly all creatures are mating, and planning for the 
new home that shall be their joy for the coming 
summer. In the early springtime not only the birds 
and fourfooted creatures become vocal, telling their 
joy to the world, but also the bursting buds and the 
greening grass seem to be whispering a language 
all their own, and so low and sweet that only the 
finest ear can hear. 

One spring twilight the boy was trudging home- 
ward across the lonely marsh as usual. He had 
stopped to play with another boy who lived near the 
schoolhouse, so that when he reached the loneliest 
part of the marsh, it was already twilight, and soft 
mist clouds were hanging over the lowlands. 

Suddenly the boy stopped to listen and almost 
held his breath in the intensity of the moment. He 
had heard an old familiar note and wanted to satisfy 
himself that his ears had not deceived him. 

There it was again, and there was no mistaking it 
now, beef, beef, beef. It was a strange hoarse cry 
rather rasping and without the slightest suggestion 
of music in it. One would have said on hearing it 
for the first time, that it was made by an animal, 
rather than a bird. But the boy had heard it before, 
and knew it was Mr. Woodcock and that somewhere 
out there on the marsh, he and Mrs. Woodcock were 
planning a nest. 

Then there was a sudden whirr of wings like a 



294 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

penny whistle with a pea in it, and Mr. Woodcock 
shot up out of the mist, and went dancing up into 
the sky, going up in a beautiful spiral, as the eagle 
does, only the rings in his spiral were much smaller 
than those in the eagle's. How joyous and full of 
good spirits his twilight flight was ! Just as though 
his heart was so light that he had to go up. Up, 
up, he went, two hundred feet, three, four and five, 
until the boy could just make him out against the 
dusky sky. Now he is zigzagging across the sky 
parallel to the earth, and the whistle of his wings is 
no longer heard. Now he is coming down in a long 
zigzag coast, light as a bubble. But what is that 
chattering? Che-at-ter, chatter, chit-chee, chatter chit 
chee, something like the chatter of chimney swal- 
lows, only many times louder and sweeter. Now it 
is fairly poured from the ecstatic throat, the notes 
following so closely upon one another, as to be 
almost one continuous stream. Chatter, chit-chee, 
chee, chee, cheep, cheep, chit, chee. Here he comes 
over the boy's head, so near that he could have 
touched him with the new fishing-pole that he cut 
yesterday. Now the mist has swallowed him, but 
out on the marsh you may hear the hoarse cry, more 
like a bleat than a bird note, " beef, beef, beef." 

The boy heaves a deep sigh of satisfaction at the 
sound, and trudges homeward, feeling that he too 
must grow like the rest of the world, and be glad 
like the bird and the young lambs. 



THE BOY WITH THE DINNER-PAIL 295 

But the most interesting thing on the marsh was 
a family that lived in an old water-elm, near the little 
footbridge that crossed the brook. 

One morning the boy was sitting upon the little 
bridge breaking off bits of bark, and snapping them 
into the stream. He did this just to see if there 
would come that sudden flash of something bright, 
a swirl in the water and then an eddy to tell where 
the trout had jumped. This was the small boy's 
favorite pastime, when he had a minute to spare 
near the brook. 

No trout rose this morning to his sham bait, but 
presently he heard soft wings winnowing the air 
above him, and looking up saw a small beautifully 
marked duck passing directly over his head, and a 
second later it alighted in the old water-elm just 
below the bridge. 

The boy had never seen a duck alight in a tree 
before, but he had read of the duck who lives in a 
tree, and knew at once that this must be the wood 
duck, or summer duck, as it is also called. 

The boy was still more interested in this duck 
when it disappeared in a hole in a tree, a few min- 
utes later. He could hear an occasional low quack 
or croak, or murmur in the hollow tree, so knew 
there must be another duck inside. Soon the sec- 
ond duck came out and flew away to the woods, 
and the boy saw that she was rather smaller than 
the first duck, and not so gaily dressed. This was 



296 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

the female. She had gone to the woods for some of 
last year's beechnuts, or acorns, or any other kind 
of nut that she could find. Perhaps if she found 
nuts scarce, she would pick up some weed seeds on 
the marsh, before her return. There must be a nest, 
thought the boy, else the two ducks would have gone 
together. The male bird had stayed to keep the 
eggs warm while his mate went for her breakfast. 
He would climb up to that hole some morning and 
see. 

All through the evening thoughts of what might 
be in the bottom of the hole in the old water-elm 
haunted the boy, and he dreamed that night of 
climbing the tree and falling into the stream for his 
pains. 

The next morning on his way to school, he ex- 
amined the tree to see if he could climb it. It was 
dead and almost without limbs and looked like quite 
a proposition. But the boy was all curiosity to know 
what was going on in the hollow, which was about 
twenty feet from the ground, so he got a stone from 
the bed of the stream, and drummed on the old stub. 

"Wake-up, wake-up, wake-up," said a voice in 
the tree. It was not a quack, but more like a croak, 
or a whistle. Then the boy saw that the beautiful 
duck whom he had first seen the day before was sit- 
ting on a limb near the hole keeping watch. He 
looked half asleep himself, and the admonition might 
as well have been given him. 



THE BOY WITH THE DINNER-PAIL 297 

For answer came a low drowsy murmur in the 
hollow stub, which plainly said, " Wake-up, yourself. 
I am all right. What is the matter anyhow?'' 

The beams of the morning sun fell full upon the 
little drake who was apparently keeping watch in 
the tree and the boy thought he had never seen a 
more beautiful bird. He was a small duck, about 
eighteen inches from the end of his bill to the tip of 
his tail. His head and crest were metallic green 
and purple, which colors refracted the sunlight in 
many rainbow hues. About his eyes were some 
white spectacles, and he wore a white necktie. His 
underside, of which the boy had a good view, was 
chestnut and white and in front of each shoulder was 
a black and white crescent. His wings were largely 
purple and green, like his head, and when he flew 
the sunlight played upon them gorgeously. 

The boy discovered the following day, when he 
climbed up and peeped into the hole, that the female 
was not as brilliant as her mate, being brown and 
gray, and very modest in her appearance. 

Each morning the boy shinned up on a pole bor- 
rowed from a neighboring fence and peeped into the 
hollow to see how things were getting on. The first 
morning he discovered that there were six creamy 
eggs, about the size of small hens' eggs, only they 
were more pointed than the hens' eggs, and as near as 
he could make out, there was a new egg laid each day 
until there were thirteen or fourteen. Sometimes the 



2Q8 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

little drake was keeping watch in the tree and would 
cry " Wake-up, wake-up, wake-up," but when the boy 
began climbing the tree he would fly away, though 
he did not seem to be much afraid. The female 
duck always stayed on the nest after the first morn- 
ing. When the eggs were all laid they were covered 
with down which looked as though it came from Mr. 
Wood Duck's breast. 

Frequently the boy would see Mrs. Wood Duck 
flying away to the woods or just returning and then 
he would know that her mate had been keeping the 
eggs warm. 

He did not know just when the eggs hatched, for 
the farmer claimed his fence pole and this broke up 
the habit of climbing into the tree each morning on 
the way to school, but finally when he got another 
pole and climbed up, the eggs were all gone but one 
and the nest was empty. 

How the little ducklings ever got down to the 
water was another mystery, but an old hunter told 
the boy that the mother duck usually carried the 
little ones down to the water in her bill, taking them 
one at a time, by the wing, or their little red webbed 
feet. 

About a week after the disappearance of the ducks 
from the old water-elm, the boy discovered the whole 
family in a large pool further down stream, all swim- 
ming about and having the finest kind of a time. 
Both of the old ducks were with the brood caring for 



THE BOY WITH THE DINNER-PAIL 299 

them, but the ducklings seemed very active, swim- 
ming and nibbling away at water-grass and in all 
ways appearing quite like their elders. 

One day the boy discovered a bloodthirsty mink 
gliding along the bank, intently watching the duck 
family. He hurried to a neighbor's house and bor- 
rowed a gun and kept guard over his precious duck- 
lings for three hours until this fierce water-weasel 
again appeared when he shot it, and the ducks were 
rescued from a grave peril. 

After school closed the boy did not have occasion 
to use the unfrequented road across the marsh and 
through the meadows where the duck family lived, 
but he occasionally went around that way just to see 
how they were getting on. As the summer advanced 
they were seen less and less often on the stream and 
more frequently along the edge of the woods. Fi- 
nally in September they lived almost entirely in the 
woods, only going to the water when they felt the 
need of a swim and a bath and some water-grass 
diet, with which to vary their regular breakfast and 
supper of acorns. 

The boy never knew just when Mr. and Mrs. 
Wood Duck led their handsome family on that long 
flight southward, but he never saw them after about 
the first of October. 

Probably they went in the night, as so many birds 
of passage do, when the dusky mantle shields them 
from curious eyes. Perhaps if he had been standing 



3oo WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

at the little bridge just at dusk he might have heard 
them winnowing by overhead, uttering their soft call 
notes. But this glimpse of them, if* he had been lucky 
enough to have had it, would have been very fleeting. 

But one thing is certain, he never passed the little 
footbridge and the old hollow water-elm but he 
thought of the little drake who had watched in the 
tree and advised his mate of danger. 

Even if the old tree was forsaken now, and the 
marsh lonely and desolate, perhaps they would come 
back again in the spring, when Whistle-wings, the 
woodcock, would dance his love dance in the twi- 
light sky, and the hoarse cry of the jacksnipe would 
be heard in the land. 



The Tale of a Turtle 

It was a pleasant afternoon in August, with just 
enough haze to subdue the sunlight and give warm, 
rich color to the landscape. The day was more like 
Indian summer than August, so tender was the sky 
and so hazy was the atmosphere. Bass were not 
biting, but what cared I as long as the blue sky was 
above me, the fresh green earth at my feet, and the 
sweet air in my nostrils. 

There were other things to be interested in that 
summer afternoon besides bass ; so I sat under the 
old birch and trailed my line heedlessly in the water, 
dreaming a sweet day-dream while the silver-footed 



THE TALE OF A TURTLE 301 

moments slipped noiselessly by, all unconscious of 
the joys they held. From across the stream came 
the musical tinkle of a cowbell, reminding me of 
boyhood and driving cows to pasture through the 
dew-laden grass where the clover smelled so sweet 
when you stirred it. I could almost smell it now 
across the gap of some twenty-five years. 

The stream lapped the roots of the old black birch 
with a low pleasant sound, and the wind sighed 
softly in the treetop. All was restful and quiet. 
Each hour seemed cut from the calendar and hung 
like a golden apple, ripe and ready for plucking. 

Then I leaned back against the rough trunk of the 
tree, rested my rod across my knee, while the winds 
and the water crooned a pleasant lullaby, and Mother 
Earth invited me to rest. Somehow it all seemed fa- 
miliar, like a leaf out of an old dog-eared book. Was 
it my mother's crooning and the warm human breast I 
remembered ? I know not, but the day and the hour 
did their work and I slipped into the realm of mystery. 

" Having any luck, Mister?" asked an odd little 
voice at my feet. I looked down in surprise, for I 
had not imagined any one about, but could see no 
one who could be addressing me. Then a large 
round something in the grass on the bank moved, 
and I saw a green turtle about the size of a milk pan 
eying me curiously. 

" Getting any fish ? " asked the queer voice again. 
I started. 



302 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

" What, were you speaking ? " I asked in astonish- 
ment, for I had never heard a turtle talk before. " I 
wasn't aware that any one was about." 

" Maybe you don't consider me any one," said the 
turtle ironically, " but there are others who do. Why, 
there are cooks down in New York who would laugh 
with glee at the very sight of me. I am considered 
one of the choicest delicacies ever set upon the table. 
That is why I have to look out for my shell. I am 
what you people call a hard-shell, hard outside but soft 
inside. That is better than being soft outside and 
hard inside," and the turtle winked knowingly at me. 

"Have you always lived here?" I asked. The 
deep hole under the old black birch was a favorite 
fishing spot of mine, and I did not remember ever 
having seen so fine a specimen of the turtle family 
there before. 

The turtle laughed a dry little laugh and looked 
very scornfully at me as he replied, " I guess you 
don't know much about the turtle family. Why, 
I have an ancestor in the Isle of Wight who is known 
to be many hundred years old. Even I have seen 
seven or eight generations of your race come and go 
and I am still hale and hearty and sure to outlive 
you, my fisherman friend. Do you know, I have 
been having great sport with you this summer, by 
nipping your worms from the hook when you were 
fishing with a bob. You thought it was bass, and 
that made me snicker. I might tell you all about 



THE TALE OF A TURTLE 303 

that big bass that you nearly landed. What a joke 
it would be if you had merely hooked into my shell ! " 

I blushed and looked sheepish. That big bass 
which I had nearly landed had been a favorite yarn 
of mine and I was thinking of writing up the inci- 
dent for a sporting paper, but now it would not do. 

" Where did you come from if you have not always 
lived here ? " I asked, for I was getting interested in 
what seemed to be a remarkable turtle. 

" Why, I was born at Leyden," he replied. " I was 
one of several million eggs that my mother left in the 
sand, but the rest were all gobbled up by an otter." 

" How did you get here ? " I queried. 

" It is a rather long story," said the turtle, " but I 
will tell you if you wish. You need not bother about 
your line ; you will not get any bites now I am on 
the bank. 

" I was found by a Leyden goldsmith when I was 
a baby turtle, about as big as a silver dollar, and he 
kept me for two years in a glass globe and was very 
proud of me. The customers used to peer in to see 
me, and I was quite as much of a curiosity as the 
green parrot in the window. But finally, I got so 
large that I could not be kept in the globe and then 
the goldsmith let me go, putting me down among 
the wharves, where I picked up a good living. 

" By the time I was twenty years old, I had grown 
to be quite a respectable turtle. I was not like the 
rest of the family, for I was given to wondering what 



304 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

was doing in the great watery world about me and 
on the dry, hot land. Most turtles simply eat any- 
thing that comes their way and bask in the sun the 
rest of the time. But I wanted to know more about 
the world. I used to wonder about the great ships 
that were always coming and going. So finally one 
day, when the wharves were pretty well deserted, I 
climbed up to the gang plank of a ship and went 
aboard her. I was waddling about on the deck hav- 
ing a fine time, when I fell into a deep hole and went 
rolling and tumbling clear to the bottom of the ship. 
I kept pretty quiet for two or three days ; in fact, I 
could do little else, for I could not get out of the hole. 
But by and by I felt the ship moving and that inter- 
ested me. Things went on very well for about a 
month and I was quite happy, for now I was travel- 
ing, something that I had always wanted to do. B|ut 
one day a man came down into the bottom of the 
ship after something and discovered me. 

" ' Hello, my fine fellow,' he cried, catching me up 
by the tail. ' Here is a find. I will take you to the 
galley and we will have turtle soup for dinner/ 

" Cookie was tickled enough when he saw me, and 
I thought my day had come. I was perched upon 
a great table awaiting my fate, when a dignified 
white-haired man wearing a long black coat, entered. 

" 4 What have you here, Thomas ? ' he asked point- 
ing to me. 

" ■ That's our dinner,' replied Cookie with a laugh. 



THE TALE OF A TURTLE 305 

" * You will have to kill him, won't you ? ' asked 
the man in the black coat. 

" ' Why, of course, Elder,' said the cook. ' You 
didn't think I would boil him alive.' 

" ' Certainly not/ replied the grave one, ' but I do 
not think it will do. If we spill blood upon this ship, 
we shall not be prospered. Turtle soup would make 
our humble rations relish, but we must not risk it. 
We are on a long and hazardous journey and must 
have a care.' 

" So I escaped." 

" Did you ever learn the name of the ship ? " I 
asked, now being thoroughly interested in the turtle's 
story. 

" Of course," he replied. " You didn't think I 
would cross the Atlantic in a ship and not learn her 
name. It was the Mayflower, and my preserver was 
Elder Brewster." 

" Impossible," I gasped. " You do not mean to 
tell me that you are nearly three hundred years old." 

" Certainly I am," replied the turtle, " and proba- 
bly three hundred and twenty-five years would be 
nearer my age. You know the turtle family is noted 
for long life." 

" I do not believe it," I replied ; " you are spinning 
me a fish story." 

" Just turn me over then, and see what you see," 
he rejoined. I did as I was told and saw the letters 
"E. B." and the numerals 1628. 



3 o6 WOOD AND WATER FRIENDS 

" What does that stand for ? " I asked, for I did not 
at first catch the significance of the lettering. 

11 Elder Brewster, 1628," replied the turtle. " He 
marked me when he let me go. I was a young 
turtle then, but now I am getting old. I used to 
have the name of the goldsmith who kept me in the 
glass globe at Leyden on my shell, but as my shell 
grew, it was obliterated." 

"How did you get here?" I queried. "This is 
the Connecticut." 

"I came up in an English ship, which was fired 
on by the Dutch at Hartford, but we took possession 
of the land and have kept it ever since. I suppose 
I ought to be a Dutch turtle, but I have always 
been with the English so much that I call myself 
English." 

" What other adventures have you had ? " I asked. 
" You seem to be the most remarkable turtle I have 
ever known." 

" Well, I got aboard a flat-boat one day and was 
going to the Sound, but I heard the men talking 
about letting the ship that they were going to meet 
take me to New York, and sell me to a restaurant. 
So I slipped overboard and gave up going to sea. 
Then about fifty years ago, when they were building 
the great dam at Holyoke, I got my shell cracked. 
That laid me up for quite a spell, but it finally grew 
together and I am quite as good as new." 

" I believe you are a monstrous story teller," I 




i DROPPED MY POLE AND SPRANG FOR HIM. 



THE TALE OF A TURTLE 307 

said solemnly, when the turtle had concluded his 
story. 

"Well, you are another," he retorted. "Didn't 
you tell about hooking a big bass, when it was 
nothing but my shell ? 

11 Look out, I really believe you have got a bite, 
and me out of the water too ; I shall have to investi- 
gate," and he slipped down the bank toward the 
water. 

"Hold on," I cried, "I want to ask you more 
questions. Did you really — " here the tugging at 
the pole became so vigorous that I aroused myself 
and gave the line a slight jerk to hook my fish. 
Where was the turtle ? Had it been a dream ? Or 
was it a waking reality ? 

I looked along the bank. The green mottled back 
of a huge turtle was just slipping into the water. I 
dropped my pole and sprang for him. A look at 
the under side of his shell again, and then I would 
know. But I was too late. Although I waded to 
the top of my hip boots, and thrust my arm into the 
water to the elbow, the black shape slipped away 
into the deep water and only a few bubbles told 
where this most remarkable turtle had gone. 

It was too bad. I should never know. It would 
always remain a mystery. 

THE END 



